Chuck vs The Blue Bloods
by Whiskeyflips
Summary: US police commissioners of several American cities are targeted for assassination by an unknown, but very powerful and brazen enemy. The CIA enlists the help of the since-retired Intersect, Chuck Bartowski and team as an asset to help the NYPD thwart any further attempts, discover the identity of the assailants, and bring them to justice.
1. 2009- One Wedding and a Funeral

**Chuck vs the Blue Bloods**

**A/N: A**_ recent news story that broke in February germinated the seed of an idea of the casts of two of my favorite shows collaborating.__Chuck __and __Blue Bloods __are different types of shows, yes ... but I think they have enough in common to hold them together for an adventure._

**_What you Need to Know About _****_Chuck:_**_A bit of a sci-fi fantasy combined with self-aware spy genre spoof,__Chuck __is about a normal guy (Chuck Bartowski) who accidentally gets all the secrets of the US government (a program called The Intersect) zapped into his head, prompting the US government to assign two action-hero(ine) characters (Sarah Walker and John Casey) to defend him from the loads and loads of bad guys that would love to get their grubby mitts on Chuck and his brain. Chuck's Intersect also provides an early warning of sorts on the presence of bad guys, -usually while they're unsuspecting -and allowing our heroes to thwart the baddie's nefarious misdeeds. The very lovely Sarah poses as Chuck's girlfriend, so the outside world doesn't question their constant communications with each other at all hours, including "dates" that are actually missions. Chuck begins the show with practically no action genre survival skills whatsoever, relying on Sarah and Casey to be his bodyguards. Interestingly, and endearingly, as Sarah and Casey educate Chuck on the hard lessons needed to survive in the spy world, Chuck and his loving family (initially unaware of his new role in national security) begin to indoctrinate Sarah and Casey on the joys of normal life, and what it's like to have a strong supportive family and friends, drastically changing the outlooks on life of the two hard-bitten government agents. Chuck's family, most importantly his elder sister Ellie, and her boyfriend-fiance-husband Devon become good friends, and influential people to the former lone wolves that were Sarah and Casey._

_Chuck__began in 2007, and finished in 2012, after five seasons._

_**What you Need to Know About **__**Blue **__**Bloods:**__The Reagan family (presumably no relation to the 40th president) is synonymous with law enforcement in New York City. Frank Reagan is the NYPD Police Commissioner, a career cop, a 9/11 first responder, widowed father of four, and grandfather of three. His family includes his own father, Henry, himself a former police commissioner from the "good old days". He has four children, one of whom is killed before the action of the show begins, and so whom is never seen. Ex-Marine Danny Reagan is the eldest, an NYPD homicide cop, who is married with two kids. Erin comes next, a fairly newly divorced single mother and an assistant district attorney in Manhattan. The fallen Joseph was next, and Jamie is the youngest, who was not initially supposed to be a cop, but a lawyer. Something changes his mind on career paths around the time Joseph dies, making Jamie probably the only Harvard educated rookie cop in the NYPD._

_Blue Bloods __began in 2010, and as of early 2014, just got renewed for a 5th season._

_The shows occupy two different genres, but are both unashamedly idealistic about the joys and strengths to be found in family and close friends. Both are also big on calls to duty, even in the faces of physical dangers, challenges from authorities, betrayals by comrades, threats to loved ones, and losses of family and friends._

_The bulk of the story takes place in the present (2014) so the first few chapters are prologue._

* * *

_"Grandma always said a family is held together by its secrets." - - - Detective Danny Reagan_

_"You didn't go far enough, Chuck! Sarah is special. I know it. You know it. And if you love her and if she's the one, then you don't stop, you don't quit. You never go too far. You are a Bartowski, Chuck. Start acting like one. - - - Ellie Bartowski-Woodcomb_

"Family is what makes us strong" - - - - Commissioner Frank Reagan

"You know my father taught me a lot of things. … Like looks can be deceiving. … Fight for your family. … And of course, never use a gun unless you absolutely have too." - - - Chuck Bartowski

"Is there any aspect of public service you Reagans aren't involved in?

"Politics. Too many crooks in that." - Detectives Kate Lansing and Danny Reagan

"I think we need to support Chuck. This is his family, and it's my family too now." - - - Sarah Walker Bartowski

"Saw my first dead body last night. Of course Danny had to be the one to show it to me."  
" If you were twelve he would have made you kiss it" - - - Officer Jamie Reagan and ADA Erin Regan-Boyle

* * *

**Chuck vs The Blue Bloods**

**Prologue- One Wedding and A Funeral**

**May 2009**

**Burbank, California**

**Servants of the Prince of Peace Chapel**

Eleanor Faye Bartowski stepped into her wedding dress with an odd, comfortable mixture of anticipation and resignation. The dress was perfect, the day was perfect, and her groom Devon was … _Awesome_, she thought with delight. Her newly re-discovered father would be there to give her away, and her wonderful brother who found him would be there with his exquisite date, Sarah – the woman who was clearly inspiring Chuck to do bigger and better things with his hitherto fore mellow, laid back life.

Ellie heaved a sigh as she took in the bridal chamber of the chapel. Of course, no wedding was without compromise and hers was no exception. The fact that they were having a big wedding at all was a concession on her part; she'd have much preferred a quick, simple ceremony on the beach. But her soon to be in-laws were big advocates of a traditional ceremony, and she was learning that her Devon's mother, Honey was a woman used to getting her way. So it was with some resignation that she had to admit that much of this day was Honey's as well as her own.

But location didn't matter. At the end of this day she was going to be married to Devon Woodcomb, the man of her dreams, and she'd happily have this wedding in the sixth level of hell for this to happen, so long as Chuck, Sarah and her father Steven were there to share it with her.

Sarah would be here soon …. Ellie allowed a mischievous smile to part her lips, as she secretly hoped that she had kept Chuck sleeping in late this morning. While they waited, her other three bridesmaids, Cynthia, Kimberly and Justine relaxed a bit. Kimberly was behind her, zipping up her dress.

"You look just gorgeous" Kimberly fawned with delight. Kimberly was one of the ER nurses at Westlake, and had become fast friends with Ellie as soon as she had started to work there.

"Thanks Kim- so do you. You know, I think one of Devon's brothers is single."

"Nice. What's the scouting report on him? Is he a sweetie pie like Devon?"

"I honestly don't know very well. I can count on one hand the times I've even been in the same room with either of them."

Honey Woodcomb, who had been overhearing, came whirling in, a blonde and pink tornado of excitement – and control. "Both Woodrow Jr and Arthur are perfect gentleman, but they live back east, and I'll not have any of you West Coast vixens tempting them to move out here. I've lost one to the allure of Earthquake Land, and that's quite enough." Turning to Ellie, and not noticing that she'd vaguely insulted all four California girls present, Honey asked "Any word on when your brother and the blonde are getting here?"

"No, Honey, sorry – but Chuck and Sarah will be here, don't worry." Ellie said, patiently.

"I'll make sure I have Woody keep an eye out," and with that, Honey was gone.

Cynthia, a classmate of Ellie's from medical school shook her head in sympathy. "Ellie, Devon's a great guy, and nothing should give you a second thought about marrying him, but I wouldn't want _that_ for a mother-in-law."

"Good with the bad, Cindy. Good with the bad." Ellie grinned. Examining herself in the mirror and satisfying herself for the moment, Ellie sighed and made her way to the other end of the bridal chamber. Justine, somewhere in the last two minutes had suddenly become a statue of silent concern as she viewed the small TV that was at this end of the room.

Ellie allowed dismayed sympathy to cloud her features as she saw what was on the TV screen. Justine was watching the news, and the story was obvious. It could only be one thing that they were watching, as a long line of police motorcycles and cars were visible on the news report. They moved slowly and all the vehicles with police markings had their emergency lights on. A glossy black hearse led the procession, followed by two black stretch limousines, and a black sports utility vehicle. The SUV was clearly a police vehicle, as special emergency lights were embedded in the grill of the otherwise civilian-looking car. Other camera shots panned over the seemingly endless procession of police vehicles make their way into a cemetery. The very bottom of the screen held the news banner: _**NYPD PC's son laid to rest - Detective Joseph Reagan -3**__**rd**__** NYPD line of duty death of 2009.**_

Justine was another one of Ellie's favorite nurses, and another one drawn to Ellie's happy and attractive personality. It was immediately clear to Ellie why this particular news story was so concerning to her. Scott, Justine's serious boyfriend and date for today was a 3 year veteran of the LA County Sheriff's office. It made no difference that this was news footage from the other side of the country – any disaster that befell a police officer or firefighter _anywhere_ twisted the hearts of emergency types and their loved ones _everywhere_. Ellie knew that Justine and Scott had probably never heard of this fallen cop, and yet an identical catastrophe could befall Scott on his very next shift.

In truth, it would probably be easier for Ellie to list the number of female nurses she worked with who had _never_ dated a policeman or a fireman - emergency service people did tend to attract one another with their unique stresses and bizarre hours. Indeed, had Ellie not fallen in love with a fellow doctor, who'd be to say she herself could not have been charmed by a handsome charismatic hero-type with a badge? Some of Ellie's nurses were unashamed "badge bunnies" – a type of police and fire groupies, similar to those that favored bands. But Ellie had met Justine and Scott as a couple, and they were very much a real couple. Ellie was hopeful that the next wedding she attended would either be Justine and Scott's if not, Chuck and Sarah's.

"Scott's here today, safe and sound, right?" Ellie asked in concern for Justine.

"Oh yeah." Justine said. "We'll probably be thanking your in-laws for the open bar" she smiled.

"What's this?" the bride gestured towards the TV "What does PC mean?"

"Police Commissioner. The New York PC has two sons who are cops. One of them went through the wrong door a few days ago. So sad. Not only did this commissioner lose one of his men, it was his own son that died."

"God, that is awful." Ellie sighed as she listened to the newscast.

"_NYPD police Commissioner Frank Reagan gave a brief yet poignant eulogy over the casket of a fallen officer all too near and dear to himself. Regan's second son, NYPD detective Joseph Conor Reagan was killed in the line of duty early Friday morning while serving a high-risk arrest warrant with his team. Two suspects were also killed during the execution of the raid. Reagan emphasized that the slain detective's sacrifice is a grief to not just one but to two 'families' as all police officers are part of a common brother and sisterhood. Commissioner Regan further elaborated that Joseph is not only survived by his brothers Daniel and James, his sister Erin, a niece, two nephews, his grandfather Henry, … but also his family of 35,000 fellow NYPD officers, all of whom he leaves behind."_

During the newscaster's small soliloquy, silent footage and pictures passed by of the police procession into the cemetery, a still shot of the fallen cop looking very serious and handsome in his uniform and of NYPD commissioner Frank Reagan, a vibrant, handsome 50-or-60 something looking man at the lectern of a large cathedral. Although his speech was muted out for the sake of the news anchor's voice over, it was clear he was delivering it with a quiet strong dignity-that even so did nothing to mask his pain. The camera also panned over several hundred cops in uniform, and the grief stricken faces of some of the family in the front pews of the church.

"_And we are now live at the Holy Cross cemetery in Brooklyn, where the NYPD honor guard has just set up …" _the newscaster continued as the footage changed to the procession of vehicles.

Ellie sighed again. "Any chances of talking Scott into a particularly safe duty? If you need help bullying him into guarding a crosswalk or something let me know, I have years' experience of pushing around a little brother to get what I want." Ellie offered with a helpful grin.

Justine laughed a little, and opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Honey arrived again, looking with some dismay at the news report. "Now, now ladies. A fallen policeman is very very sad, but we don't want to let it mess up our special day today, do we? Especially when we can't do very much about it here. Come come, Ellie, let's check your make up again. The rest of you line up! Flowers ladies!" Both bride and bridesmaids meekly followed Honey's directives.

Again Ellie stood before the full length mirror, pretending to verify that her witnessing a sad news story had not catastrophically damaged her mascara. There was a knock at the door behind her, which Honey answered, and Ellie heard a most welcome male voice from the hallway.

"Hi, can I talk to my sister? It will only take a second."

"Oh, no Chuck! It's bad luck to see the bride before …"

Truly annoyed now, Ellie called back "It's fine, I don't believe in that stuff!"

"Okay fine, just get in, get in!" she could hear Honey hiss.

Elle arched her back and beamed. Only two men in her life had any claim to her heart, although in very different ways of course. The first one she was marrying in an hour. The second one she had known her whole life since her parents had brought him from the hospital – the boy she had taught to tell time and use a VCR player, her wonderfully sweet and kind hearted … if somewhat directionless at times… brother Chuck.

Chuck stared at his big sister, resplendent in her white dress, truly at a loss for words. She demanded some sort of verbiage "What?" she asked with a smile.

"Look at you," he said with a wistful sigh. "Your dreams are coming true"

Ellie corrected him. "If it were up to me, I'd have a small ceremony on the beach, sand between my toes, people I love, but … we all have to make sacrifices for family, right?"

"One, two, three …" Honey began inspecting the bridesmaids, and suddenly found herself 25% short. "Where the hell is my blonde?" she snarled over the absent Sarah Walker.

"Anyway, I don't know yet what I'm going to get you for a wedding present, but I'll start with this: I quit the Buy More today."

Ellie's eyes widened in surprise and delight. Chuck had always been meant for bigger things than he was currently doing, and she had been trying to coax him to expand his horizons past the Nerd Herd desk for a year or more. She whirled with glee "What!?" and her smile now lit up the room, brilliant even for a bride.

"The Buy More … is _no_ more." Chuck said with warm certainty.

"Oh, Chuck! That is … that's just incredible!" Sarah cooed with delight. "What are you going to do with your future?"

"I don't know!" Chuck said, enjoying the freedom.

"Oh, there she is!" Honey groaned with relief behind them. Brother and sister whirled around to view the newcomer. Honey's missing blonde, Sarah Walker apologetically crept into the bridal chamber, before being immediately ushered into line by Honey. The athletic and gorgeous Sarah was easily the tallest woman there, and her golden tresses fell just below her shoulders. In fact Ellie had given Sarah an out this morning for the bridesmaids hair appointments, believing that her brother's girlfriend looked better with her hair down, and knowing that Chuck preferred it that way too. Honey had been annoyed at this, of course but all Ellie had to do was to convince the golden haired Honey that blonde looks better free and down, and the sideways appeal to Honey's own vanity had had its effect.

"I made my dreams come true, Chuck. What are you going to do about yours" Ellie prompted. Sarah had been so good for Chuck these last two years, and Ellie credited her with inspiring Chuck to do greater things with his life.

She towered over Kimberly, Cynthia and Justine, and that was possibly the reason why she looked a little awkward and shy in her slinky pink bridesmaid dress. She gave Chuck an uncomfortable glance, as if she felt self-conscious with all these strangers, or if she were sitting on an unpleasant piece of news.

Chuck seemed not to quite notice—or perhaps he just dismissed it as Sarah not being the bridesmaid type of woman. Ellie watched him stride over to his girlfriend, and ask if he could have a word with her. The two of them quickly went outside.

Justine shook her head as the couple left. "Ellie, your brother's a sweetie pie, he really is. But I'm still surprised he landed _that_ one."

Ellie opened her mouth to defend her brother, but was herself interrupted by Kimberly. "Oh, I'm not. Chuck can be a charmer on his good days. I'm guessing Sarah met him on a good day."

"Pretty much." Ellie reinforced "I guess so. Her phone was broken and he fixed it for her. Chuck's probably like a lot of guys – they look good when they're doing something they know how to do. You just caught him on a bad day, Justine. In fact, his birthday party was just about a day or two before they met."

"You're sure they're a strong couple right?" Kimberly verified. "I mean Chuck's off-limits?"

Ellie's kind glance became tinged with menace. "Kimberly, Chuck and Sarah are going to go the distance, and you are _not_ going to distract my brother. He is 100% completely off limits. Clear?"

"Oh, heard! Totally!" Kimberly held up her flowers in innocence. "I don't poach. You just told me they were on the outs a few months ago, and I was just wondering where they'd gone with that."

"Well they just went away together for a few days, so I'll bet they're pretty strong." Ellie affirmed. "Out of bounds, Kimberly".

Sarah came back within short order, a sweet smile on her face. She came over to Ellie and pecked her cheek. "Chuck was right – you look wonderful. Devon's going to be so happy. And he does indeed have the rings."

Ellie sighed, and beamed at who she by now presumed would eventually be her sister-in-law. The day was hers, and was going so wonderfully. The small core of her family, her and Chuck had always included Devon through these last few years, and today was about making that official. Chuck had miraculously found her long lost dad, through hacking or info gathering, or whatever voodoo her tech support nerd brother did, and things seemed to be going swimmingly with he and Sarah. After so many years of loneliness of just her and Chuck, her family seemed to be growing threefold in the space of just a few days. She had never felt anything quite so beautiful.

BB=====================BB ===========================BB========================BB

**New York City, New York**

**Borough of Brooklyn, **

**Holy Cross Cemetery**

As one family gleefully anticipated the joys of a wedding and the merging and growing of the families that it promised, another family 3000 miles away tried to come to terms with the fact that their own had recently and violently shrunk.

Erin Regan-Boyle sat in one of the rear seats of the first limousine, her eyes relatively dry, considering. She was simply at the point where she had cried herself out. Thankfully Danny, Linda and their kids Sean and Jack were in the second limo, meaning that the only "child" she needed to stay strong for was her far-older-than-her 13 years daughter Nicky, who occupied the seat next to her, mute in misery at the loss of her loving Uncle Joe.

Across the compartment, in the couch seat facing them sat Jamie and Sydney, their left hands clasped together, and the engagement ring that Jamie had only given her a month ago sparkling on her finger. Erin's brother Jamie was naturally pale of complexion, but today he looked absolutely as white as a ghost, his face a mask of grief, anger … and something else uncomfortable, Erin couldn't guess what.

There never was – and there never could be- a "good" time to say goodbye to a beloved family member like Joe. And yet the timing of his death made it all the more obscene. Spring of 2009 was becoming so happy a time. Erin and Nicky were beginning to bond over the first boy to ask Nicky to the 7th grade dance. Jamie and Sydney had just graduated Harvard Law together, passed the bar together, and gotten engaged … their wedding plans taking a back seat as they were both being aggressively courted by firms in New York, Philadelphia, Boston and Houston. Danny had gotten his promotion from the Narcotics division to Homicide. Things had generally been coming up roses for the Regan family … until that phone call at 4:15 in the morning earlier this week, the timing of which precluded it being anything good.

Unsettled by the quiet, Sydney made a little small talk. "I suppose that Angela will meet us there."

Nicky responded. "I saw her car earlier. Her parents flew down from Portland. They're about six cars back."

"I like Angela. She was good for Joe." Jamie choked out. "Were we wrong not to invite her to ride with us?"

With uncharacteristically cool confidence, Nicky responded. "Angela and Joe were just dating. They weren't engaged." She then paused, worried that she sounded needlessly cold and inconsiderate. "I don't mean to be rude about her… it's just that… she's not family. At least not the way you're going to be, Sydney." She added with a sad smile. Sydney took in the smile and responded with one of her own.

Erin watched in some consideration. She and her daughter had always had a good relationship, although often rife with mother-daughter issues. Nicky however, positively worshipped the males in her family, from her great granddad, to her granddad … to her philandering, irresponsible, estranged father – _okay, no points for character judgment on that one_ – To her loving and doting uncles Danny, Joe, and Jamie. Erin didn't blame her, and treasured her brothers' roles in Nicky's life. Nicky was little when Danny and Linda had gotten married, and so Nicky had always known Linda as Danny's wife. Sydney had also been a part of Jamie's life for a long time, and so Nicky had slowly accepted her as well. But Nicky had always been slow to accept new women in Joe's life. Her uncle was not quite a ladies man … but he had just been taking his time to settle down, and in Angela, Nicky continued to see an outsider.

Sydney clasped Jamie's hand, and rested her head on Jamie's shoulder. "She's really going to miss him, though."

**Xxx xxx xxx xxx**

In the next car, Linda Regan worked hard at containing her own grief and to keep a dry eye, which was quite a challenge with her two sons. Jack was keeping things together pretty well, but Sean was a bit of a talkative mess, his emotions waffling back and forth between grief, pain, anger, and even hatred for the horrible men who had done this to the family. Joe Regan had always been the life of all the birthdays and Christmas mornings he could remember, and the void he was feeling was as real, if not as large, as anyone else's in the car. Oddly, all of Sean's emotions mirrored her own; they just weren't restrained by any kind of discipline.

"Sean, Uncle Joe wouldn't have wanted you to say you hate the drug dealers. Uncle Joe didn't hate anyone." Danny Reagan quietly admonished his youngest. It was the most natural thing in the world for a father to say, who didn't want to see an ugly emotion like hatred spawn in his son's heart. It was also more than a little ironic, as Danny often let his anger feed him when he worked a case.

"Except for Dolphins fans. He hated _them_" Jack tried to wisecrack, while looking at Sean. Such levity would have typically earned him a cuff from either Linda or Danny, or perhaps even Henry, who was sitting next to him, but all could see that he was trying to tame his younger brother's moods. It actually worked, and Sean chuckled.

"Remember when he took us to that Jets game last year?" Sean suddenly remembered.

"Yeah!" Jack smiled. "He taught us _everything_ about football"

"Yeah. Yeah." Danny joined in. "He was always the football expert in the family. Baseball was more my thing. Also, you two need to get Uncle Jamie to teach you about chess. Jamie's good at it, Joe was too. I… kinda suck."

"It's because you're a Marine, honey, and you still don't get why the king can only move one square, instead of kicking butt like the rest of the pieces." Linda said with a soft smile.

"Seriously, he's the most important piece on the board, and he fights like one of the itty-bitty pawns. What is that?" Danny complained.

"Hey", Henry interrupted. "I'm a Marine, and I like chess. And the king only moves around a little bit because he delegates." He reached over and gave Sean a noogie. "but you're dad's right. It'll be up to Uncle Jamie to teach you all about chess now."

"You know pops," Linda switched topics. "You and Danny really look good in your uniforms. It's a crying shame that things like this are the only occasions you get to wear them anymore."

"Dirty shame" Henry agreed. "It's funny. When you first become a cop, you love to put the uniform on every day. Then when you make detective or PC, you only get to wear them for things like this that are officious and pompous at best, and horrible at worst. And as for you two," he gestured to his great-grandsons "When we get out of here you're going to see more cops than you've ever seen in one place in your lives. Just remember that they're all here because of what a great uncle you guys had. And he loved you very much. And whatever you do, don't worry about the druggies that did this. They're having their own conversations with God right now. "

**Xxx xxx xxx xxx**

From the third car of the procession, a large black Ford Expedition, Deputy Commissioner for Public Information Garrett Moore sat in the rear driver's side seat. Practicality insisted that the somewhat smaller Detective Abigail Baker take the passenger side, as she fit better in the back when Commissioner Frank Reagan rode shotgun.

Reagan had his head bowed, and Garret could see that New York's top cop was having his own private conversation with the Almighty. Now then, was the time for silence and respect.

Like the commissioner himself, Garrett was never truly off duty, and rarely wasted a minute of time. And this time trapped in the command SUV was wasted time. Oh, the _funeral_ of Reagan's fallen son, a hero of the NYPD was very much a required and solemn occasion, and Garrett hadn't even a slight complaint about attending. Garrett was as appreciative of the ceremony at Saint Patrick's and the bagpipes and the firing squad and the bugler as anyone else. It was taking part in the long, drawn out procession that annoyed him. And when the commissioner was in prayer, it wasn't the time for meaningful communication.

With nothing else to do, Garrett decided to do his job – collect relevant news and information. He withdrew his iPhone, and called up his favorite news site.

A moment later, Abigail heard a very soft "Hmmm?" from Garret. As she turned her blonde head to see what had gotten Garrett's attention, Garret cast a downward glance, embarrassed to have been caught sneaking work in the car. The detective arched an inquisitive eyebrow.

Wordlessly, Garret passed her his iPhone so she could read the news story. After a moment, her own bewildered and confused look mirrored Garret's. Silently, she mouthed the words "Meth lab?" to the Deputy Commissioner. Her expression betrayed a sense of incredulity.

Garret simply shrugged, as no further details were present yet.

"Something good?" Came the voice from the passenger seat. Frank Reagan had obviously detected the silent back-and-forth going on behind him, despite their attempts at stealth. Both Garrett and Abigail grimaced, as both had been eager to let the grieving father alone with his thoughts at the moment.

"Nothing that really needs your attention, commissioner. Not really on any day, and certainly not today. Just weird story out of California." Garret temporized.

"You know I love hearing about how weird California is. And I could use a chuckle today, so let's have it." Frank said without looking back.

"Well I wouldn't call it funny, but since foolish criminals are always good for a laugh, why not?" Garrett said. "Apparently there's this old abandoned drive in movie theater out in Barstow, the Starbright. It hasn't been used for years… at least not as a movie theater. Apparently some methamphetamine cooks decided that the series of access tunnels underneath it with no ventilation looked like a great place to do business."

"Ugh." Reagan groaned. "Let me guess. Everyone got overcome by the fumes"

"Good theory. Now imagine your theory was directed by Michael Bay. They blew themselves and the whole complex sky high. Investigators are saying that it looks like someone carpet bombed the place." At the odd absurdity of it, Garrett couldn't help a soft grin. Dumb criminals produced their own type of gallows humor. If nothing else, it sometimes made police work a bit easier.

"Any civilian casualties?" Frank asked.

"Um, no. Apparently this place is out in the middle of nowhere, even by Barstow standards. Nobody hurt but the bad guys."

There was a somewhat awkward period of silence, which Frank broke after a moment. "Well you're right Garrett. It's not funny. But it is weird."

The SUV became silent again as brake lights appeared on the hearse and two limousines in front of them. The procession had arrived at Joe's final resting place.

* * *

**A/N: **_Chuck __fans may recognize the first scene as an extension of a canonical scene in the season 2 finale "Chuck vs. The Ring", which aired in May 2009. The news story that Garret reads happened in the episode before, "Chuck vs. The Colonel"_

_As noted before, Blue Bloods was not yet on the air, but Joe Reagan's death is canonically shown (via his tombstone) to have been May of 2009. For most of the first season, the Reagan family continues to labor under the illusion that Joe was murdered by drug dealers fleeing a warrant - it is revealed not to be the case. Joe was actually murdered by a cabal of corrupt cops known as the Blue Templar ... a treacherous sub organization in the NYPD ... which when you think of it, is not a million miles removed in spirit from Fulcrum in Chuck Season 2._

_More to come, of course. be patient_


	2. 2010- Family Times

**_A/N:_****_Chuck_**_If you're reading this, it means that I weighed the likelihood of this chapter contributing to the story vs the likelihood of this chapter being distracting and running on too long, …and decided to keep the chapter. I had to avoid the temptation to make this chapter too long, as the concept of Sarah and Ellie's first major discussion after Ellie's finding out that Chuck, Sarah and Casey are spies is a dangerously, distractingly rich vein to explore. The concept will surely fuel a few of my independent one-offs. The show was curiously mum on the topic, as Ellie learns that Chuck's a spy at the end of Season 3, but doesn't learn how or why (or about the Intersect) until the end of Season 4. How a smart cookie like Ellie neglected to ask Chuck all the relevant questions is never addressed. Neither is the question of how it affected the two women's relationship in the short term. Eventually, they become as close as ever, but there's no way this was an easy few weeks after Season 3 for Sarah and Ellie._

_Both women are heroines who are fanatically loving and defensive of Chuck, and each one has reason to see the other as a threat. Ellie has every right to see Sarah as deceitful and dangerous, and thus unsafe for her brother to be around, and Sarah has every right to see Ellie as the one person who could sabotage her and Chuck's relationship (the most important thing in her life, at this point), as Ellie is the only person who Chuck worships as much as he does her. Shame on the writers for denying us a scene where these two powerful, intelligent, loving women square off against each other!_

_And speaking of strong women …_

**_A/N:_****_Blue Bloods_**_The doomed Sydney/Jamie romance that arcs over the first 8 episodes of Blue Bloods is a tragically honest one. Neither character commits any major romantic sin, there is no cheating, no lying, no abuse, no insults, nothing that obviously says that they're better off without each other. It's very clear from the first few episodes of the show that, despite the fact that she fell in love with a soon-to-be lawyer, and is now in love with a rookie patrolman, Sydney has every honest intention of being a supportive policeman's fiancée, and she puts in the effort. She's bursting with pride at Jamie's academy graduation. She leans on Linda for advice on how to cope with the horror when a cop is killed. And yet the worrying about Jamie gets to her. So too does the thrall that Jamie's new job has over him, as it and his mission to investigate the Blue Templar push the time he has for her off to the side. Her patience gone, she leaves him after he takes one risk too many. It's very sad to watch, because there are no bad guys here. Jamie is simply very well suited to being a cop. Sydney is simply not very well suited to being a cop's wife._

_The NYPD police academy, like many police academies is six months. I don't know when Blue Bloods is supposed to begin. The first episode (which includes Jamie's graduation) aired on 9/24/2010. But all the women are wearing overcoats outside, and Sydney even has a scarf. That is NOT a September afternoon in New York City, not even a rainy one! Subsequent episodes DO, however seem to take place at a time roughly congruent to their calendar spot. Two episodes later "Privilege" clearly takes place on a hot day during the academic year (so, September). Whatever, by June in this story, Jamie's part way through the NYPD academy._

_Enjoy! And don't forget to review!_

**Prologue - Family Times**

**Mid-June 2010**

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**Los Angeles, California**

**Westlake Medical Center**

Devon and Ellie always found the first day back at work after a vacation the hardest. Today, Ellie at least was learning that the inverse was also true. It was just as hard to get back into the swing of things after an unspeakable tragedy. Her father had not been the perfect father – in many ways he might not even be eligible to be described as a "good" father... but he was undoubtedly a kind hearted and loving man, brutally murdered in front of her brother's and her own eyes, for reasons that she was only now just beginning to understand, and was doubting she'd ever fully comprehend.

It was five hours into her twelve hour shift, and luckily for the world-at-large, it was a quiet morning at Westlake – one elderly lady was admitted after falling down the steps and breaking her arm. It was good for her that it wasn't her hip. A relatively minor car accident on the 5 caused a huge mess, but only resulted in a broken leg admission at Westlake. Then a four year old somewhere took a swig of his mother's glass cleaner, and the panicking mother packed him off to the ER to get his stomach pumped.

There was, however, a downside for this quietude, at least there was for Ellie—not having to immerse herself into many serious emergency crises meant that she spent a lot of her time daydreaming about stringing up one Agent Sarah Walker by her thumbs.

Ellie couldn't remember ever feeling so perfectly conned, so entirely fooled, so completely betrayed. Two and a half years ago, the very pretty blonde woman had walked into her brother's store, and flirted with her goofy, but undeniably kind hearted, funny and charming brother. She and Chuck started dating. Sarah got along so well with Ellie, with Devon … she was even better at tolerating Morgan Grimes than Ellie was. Sarah fit right in at birthday dinners, Christmas, Thanksgiving, Halloween parties. She had never seen Chuck so happy in his romantic life … so devastated when they had broken up for a few months. Ellie had never had a sister of her own, and although she had never wanted for girlfriends, she had been rapidly promoting Sarah up her chain of close friends.

_And now to find out that it was all a lie!_ Sarah Walker was an agent of the CIA! Her relationship with Chuck was a complete con-job. Not only that but now Chuck was now a CIA agent as well! What sort of sociopath could so convincingly pull off having feelings for someone for so long while all the time simply using him?

Her baby brother had always been vulnerable to the smiles of pretty girls, and the idea of some manipulative witch taking advantage of Chuck's good nature – particularly when he was smitten-had always aroused Ellie's inner lioness. It had been that way since he was in fifth grade, and Ellie warned him that Meredith Cutler was only using him for help on her science fair project, and wouldn't have any time for him after it was done. Later, something about Jill Roberts had set off alarm bells in her head towards the end of Jill and Chuck's relationship, as if Jill was hiding something from Chuck, and she wouldn't tell what.

And now, Sarah Walker, the woman for whom she watched her brother take his hardest fall ever – was actually a government agent. The whole concept was too perverse to wrap her head around. Sarah Walker might have be an expert in Krav Maga, Jujitsu, kung fu, Kempo Karate and a few dozen other martial arts that she can't even name, but still Ellie knew she'd have to fight the temptation to slap Sarah Walker across the chops the next time she saw her.

Ellie's vibrating cell phone warned her that that moment might be all too soon. Drawing the iPhone from her scrubs, Ellie saw a text from Devon.

**_Hey babe. Wanted to know how you were feeling._**

**_Also, Sarah was just here. She plans on surprising you with lunch. I told her your favorite. Be nice to her .I'll be in by 1._**

If her wonderful husband Devon had a flaw, it was the flaw he shared with Chuck. He always searched for, and normally found the good in people. But Devon's intercessions weren't going to be enough to spare her brother's girlfriend a grilling. If Sarah Walker thought a buffalo chicken foot long from Subway was going to get her out of giving her some direct answers to her tough questions, she had another think coming.

Ellie made her way to the nurse's station at the ER. Justine and Kimberly were doing paperwork, Justine with her iPhone programmed to a police radio scanner application.

"Scott working today?," Ellie asked.

"Yep, he and Steve are doing a 7 to7." Justine said. "He told me what their radio codes meant a few nights ago, but it just seems like a lot of policeman babble right now."

"I'll bet." Ellie grinned. "Of course if he had to listen to half of the medicines that come out of our mouths, he'd probably get lost too."

"Probably." Justine said with her own smile. "The poisoning in three is hoping for a release today."

"Well his mom's going to be a little disappointed." Ellie said, searching for the right chart. "I'm going to talk with his mom, then I'll do lunch."

It took upwards of a half hour to explain to the child's mother that she had to keep the window-cleaner curious kid in for an overnight. Ellie left hoping that the kid learned an important lesson -that Windex may look delicious, but really is not, and that the mother might consider investing in some Mr. Yuk stickers.

Ellie finished and returned to the nurses' station, and as she arrived, stopped a little short. Sarah had gotten there, armed with two plastic bags that smelled delicious. She greeted Ellie with a somewhat shy, but friendly smile. "Hey, Ellie."

Ellie had been sure she'd be angry at the sight of Sarah, but for some reason, Sarah's affability meshed with her for the millionth time. Intellectually, she cautioned herself that her affability could – probably was- an act … but emotionally, she decided right now that something about her _had_ to be genuine. Reluctantly, she had to admit that as much as she chastised Chuck and Devon's naiveté, she too was ultimately trusting.

"Subway," Ellie said cautiously, but with a small grin. "Someone's trying to get on my good side".

"Actually no" Sarah said, holding up the bags. "Lou's Deli. It's another shop right by the Buy More. What's left of the Buy More, anyway. "

"Cafeteria's on the second floor. I'll be there in just a minute." Ellie said.

After doffing her white coat in her locker, and changing into another pair of scrubs, Ellie found Sarah waiting for her in the hospital's cafeteria. Although the place was fairly crowded, Sarah had managed to find a table that was far from the crowd, on the edge of the floor plan.

Both women sat in silence for a little bit, before Sarah started. "Ellie, a lot of what happened … a lot of the details about how I met Chuck are very seriously classified, so there are some things that I honestly can't talk about. And I won't. But if you want to know anything else, I'll tell you. As long as it doesn't push up against things I just can't talk about."

"Ok." Ellie said, keeping a tight grip on her calm. "Normally I'd say start at the beginning. But I don't want to do that. I want to know about the most important thing first. How do you feel towards my brother? Because he has been absolutely crazy about you ever since he's met you. And if you're just treating him like a former spy or a former asset, then you and I are _never_ going to be friends."

At that, Sarah smiled a little, but her blue eyes conveyed the absolute seriousness of what she was saying. "Ellie, I am 100%, totally, crazily, and madly in love with Chuck. I've never felt this way about anyone before. I've never had a man in my life like him before. I want to make things work with him so badly. You might think I'm this heartless, cruel person who used him … and you're right in thinking that he was _supposed_ to be just a job to me –but right away he became so much more than that. If I had to choose between being a spy and being with Chuck, I'll choose Chuck in a heartbeat. In fact I've made that choice three times in the last year – I've been lucky that I haven't ended in jail over it. But those are long stories."

Ellie wasn't impressed yet. "Okay. How? Why? Why are you so crazy about him? Why isn't he 'just a job' to you? I assumed you've lied to men and their families before about your intentions, what makes Chuck so lucky?"

Sarah sat back in her chair for just a little, not offended, but careful about how to answer. Ellie was clearly way out of her comfort zone in giving her a chance to explain herself. It was her one and only shot to salvage her relationship with Ellie, whom she had come to admire almost as much as she had come to love Chuck. Life with Chuck carried with it the allure of a caring family, a caring Ellie and Devon. It was literally something Sarah Walker had never had available to her before, and she wanted it very badly.

"Okay," Sarah said. "Maybe it's time to start at the beginning now. Three years ago, the CIA learned that a huge amount of government secrets were sent to this guy we had never heard of, Chuck Bartowski. These secrets were very dangerous, and _could not_ … and _still_ cannot be allowed to fall into the hands of our enemies. Now I want you to put yourself in my bosses' shoes for a minute, and try to imagine what their first impression of Chuck was, knowing only that he was this guy who had just gotten a bunch of secrets sent to him."

Ellie looked at her a little confused.

Sarah elaborated "Think of it like a hospital. Pretend if you found out that somebody had stolen a bunch of Percocet, or OxyContin or some other drug. The police catch the guy who stole it – but find out that he sent the stolen drugs to this apartment in Washington DC. What would you immediately suspect about whoever owned that apartment?"

"Ok. I guess I'd assume that whoever owned the apartment was in on the whole thing. Like he was a drug supplier or something." Ellie said.

"Exactly!" Sarah said. "We had no idea who Chuck was, and everybody thought the worst. So they sent me in to make contact. To go into the Buy More and flirt with him a little, and find out what if anything he knows".

Ellie shook her head in disgust "So the CIA sicced a supermodel field agent on my brother the has-a-hard-time-talking-to-pretty-girls computer nerd, to pretend to like him to get him to talk. That's still probably the most disgusting plan I've ever heard of."

Sarah nodded, slightly embarrassed, yet standing her ground. "Yeah. It's kind of gross. But remember – everyone thought Chuck was the bad guy. Ellie, every intelligence agency in the world uses men's weaknesses against them, to try to get them to volunteer information. Some guys are suckers for pretty faces, and the CIA uses that to their advantage. Hell, forget the CIA, most police departments do that too, sending women undercover at bars to get info from waiters and bartenders, and guys who work the front desks of hotels. Sales men do the same thing, flirting to get information from secretaries about their bosses. Ellie, to a minor degree, you might even do the same thing – when you and Devon buy your first house, aren't you and Devon going to dress up really nice to go ask for the loan? And if the loan officer is a straight guy, and you catch him staring at you…maybe you'll smile back?" Sarah's eyes searched Ellie's for some acknowledgement of her point – and were quickly distracted by a peal of laughter from halfway across the room.

Ellie and Sarah turned. At the table in the middle of the cafeteria, 3 stunningly beautiful women were conversing and laughing. It was clear that they weren't doctors, or nurses as they didn't wear scrubs, and their blouses were much too expensive looking – and too tight- to be considered appropriate for anyone who worked at the hospital. Their makeup and hair were also excellent, something even a beautiful doctor like Ellie could not boast after a few hours on the ER floor. The women's generally cheerily demeanor probably ruled them out as family of any patient, too.

"Let me guess- pharmaceutical reps?" Sarah asked with a nod to the table with the three beauties.

"Yeah, McDonald-Davis Medical has a new painkiller they're trying to sell. Today is their big effort here." Ellie mentioned.

"Ever wonder why pharm reps are so good looking? I imagine you've run into a few male reps that were pretty hot." Sarah quizzed.

Ellie stayed somewhat quiet, trying to think of an answer. Even as she did, she could sense her righteous indignation diluting.

Sarah pressed, "It's almost as if the drug company that's trying to make a multi-million dollar drug sale did some research as to what gets a thirty, forty, or fifty something male doctor .. or female doctor's attention, and hired the best looking person they could find to hawk their pills."

"Ok, fine, I guess… But isn't what you do worse? I mean it's one thing to be nice and smile a little bit to get what you want from a guy, or to make the sale- but to pretend to want to be a guy's girlfriend, Sarah? To pretend to have real feelings for him? Isn't that pretty awful?"

Sarah patiently sat back in her chair again, before leaning forward to keep her voice low. "Ellie, remember, everyone thought Chuck was the bad guy at first. And if he had been, then no I don't think it would have been awful. Ellie, I've run the honeytrap before on murderers, gun runners, drug pushers, and even one man who was selling teenage girls into sex slavery. And no, I've never felt an iota of sympathy for lying to them, flirting with them, and pretending to like them. These men we're talking about … my 'victims' as you might be tempted to think of them … are all about to go to jail for a long _long_ time—and that's if they don't decide to shoot it out with me and my backups. My breaking their hearts is the least of both their problems and mine." She sighed. "But back to Chuck."

"I went into that Buy More, and just flirted a little with him, and he fixed my phone. Well, first of all he scored points with me right away by not staring at the third button of my shirt." Sarah smiled, "Then, something weird happened. This guy comes up to him with his little girl practically in tears. They just got back from a ballet recital, and apparently this clown didn't know that you needed digital tape to go into a digital camcorder. He completely ruined any chance of taping his daughter's recital, and I couldn't tell which one was closer to crying. So what your brother does is this: He gets Morgan to use the theater room, and records her dancing right then and there in the room. It was easily the sweetest thing I'd ever seen. Your brother saved the day, and this little girl was happy as a clam."

"Huh. I don't think he ever told me that story." Ellie said with a soft smile.

"Of course not. He probably doesn't think it's that big a deal. But I remember every detail about it. And then the next night he took me out to dinner, and he was a real sweetie pie. I liked him … and even before I knew what the story was, I knew that Chuck wasn't a bad guy, and that him having all these secrets wasn't his fault. And in case you're wondering, yes… I started feeling bad about flirting with him right then and there. Nice guys like your brother aren't supposed to get caught in honeytraps. I don't think I knew it at the time, but I know now that I started falling for him right then and there too. And I was, Ellie. I've gotten closer to him – let him get closer to me I've ever had happen to me before."

Ellie's anger had mollified a little bit by now, but it was still hard to reconcile herself with Sarah's ability to deceive. "Sarah, what sticks in my craw was that I totally bought you as his girlfriend for all that time. You were so good. You … you lied so well. I can't even begin to describe how stupid I feel."

Sarah winced and sighed. "Ellie, I was trained by some of the best in the business at how to maintain a cover. And that was even before I joined the CIA. My dad was a con man. _Is_ a con man. Fooling smart people – sometimes _very_ smart people - is pretty much what spies do. Now ask me how I was able to lie to you, someone I like very very much – the most important person in the life of the most important man in mine- with a clear conscience."

"Okay. How?" Ellie groused.

"Because keeping you and Devon and Morgan in the dark not only kept you safe, but kept Chuck safe. So every time we fed you guys a story about what we were doing that night… that time Chuck and I house-sat in the suburbs, the time we kept him late and we missed Mother's day dinner … no matter what happened to us, Chuck didn't have to worry about people like Fulcrum or The Ring coming after you and torturing you for information. And that's really important, Ellie. Chuck would do anything to keep you safe, and we can't have him giving missile codes to the bad guys … which he would surely do if he thought somebody was going to hurt you or Devon. So yes. Chuck and I lied. We lied for two whole years." Sarah said evenly, determined to feel neither ashamed, nor proud of these facts.

"Okay." Ellie agreed, no longer confident in her righteous indignation "I don't like it, but I think I get it. I don't think I understand your world at all. But I guess in the end you were trying to do what's best for Chuck and me and Devon. So thank you." A pause, and then a plea "Sarah, please, please tell me how you really feel about my brother. Next to him being alive and safe, I want nothing more than for him to be happy. And I know you people tell lies left and right for the greater good, but it's really scary to see my brother really fall so hard for someone who lies so well."

"Ellie …. I didn't even know what it'd be like to fall in love until I met Chuck. The only men I meet in my line of work are either criminals, or spies like me – men who are every bit as good at lying and deception as I am. Men just like that Justin character who charmed you into giving away your dad's location. I am totally new at this relationship thing … " after a self-indulgent smile "and I like it a lot."

"Wait a minute-_you've_ never had a boyfriend before?" Ellie asked incredulously. As beautiful as Sarah was, the idea was nothing short of ridiculous.

"Ellie, a relationship with a spy is no relationship at all, not the way normal people like you and Devon and Chuck define 'relationship'. Yeah, I've had a fling or two with a few guys I worked with. But nothing real. Nothing deep. I've never had to deal buying a boyfriend Christmas presents before, a boyfriend's birthday before, deal with boyfriend's protective big sister before. Never _ever_ thought about an actual future with a guy before. The closest thing I've had a boyfriend was my old partner, and even then making long-term plans with him was totally off-limits. We had no idea how long we'd be assigned together, or if we'd still be alive at the end of the next mission. So.., yeah. Chuck's really my first boyfriend."

"And you've loved him this whole time? For real?" Ellie asked. Gone from her now was any sense of anger, replaced by a certain sense of sympathy.

"Our very first date, I found myself asking why I couldn't have a real boyfriend like him. It was awful for both of us. I tried so hard to keep it professional, but it was what it was. At the CIA academy, they train you to put your emotions aside … but the fact that we were so wrong about Chuck … that_I_ was so wrong about Chuck meant that the sweet, stubborn jerk ended up getting to me anyway."

"You said that if you had to choose between him and the CIA…" Ellie began.

"Him. In a heartbeat." Sarah cut her off. "There was a time right before your wedding when the Agency wanted to put him underground for his safekeeping. I broke the rules, stole him, and he and I ran away together to A) find your dad, and B) arrest the people who were trying to get Chuck. That was around the time Devon found out. And then right after your wedding … I tried to get him to run away with me and leave the agency behind. He decided not to and wanted to become a real spy. Things weren't good between us for a few months. But then we sort of got past it, and tried to run away together for a third time right before you and Devon went to the Congo. That didn't work out either. It turns out that for all the dangerous and unsavory things that we do, I ended up doing a lot more good for the country, and so did Chuck. We kind of let ourselves get drawn back into it."

"So how long have you and he been together for real?" Ellie wanted to know.

"April, so just a few months. That third time we tried to run away was the real time." Sarah informed.

Ellie shook her head in disbelief. "I can't believe it. It looked so real. So every time Devon and I saw you together was an act? Every kiss, every time you cuddled on the couch, every time I saw you two dance, every time you stayed over our place… wait a minute …" her eyes grew with horror "every time you had sex?"

Sarah blushed. "Um, Ellie two things. First of all, like I said, I _was_ falling for Chuck emotionally all along. So no not _always_ just an act… if you caught me looking like I enjoyed cuddling with Chuck, then I was enjoying it." She paused, not too sure how embarrassed Ellie would be to hear this about her sibling. "And second of all, Chuck and I never actually had sex until April."

At Ellie's dumbfounded expression, Sarah blushed further and apologized "I'm sorry-I'm sorry. Was that too much information? Did I cross the line? I know you probably don't want to hear about your brother ..."

Ellie was still looking at Sarah with wide eyes and an agape mouth, but shook her head. She was appalled, but not because of the detail of her and Chuck's sex life. "You mean you've been falling for a guy for two and a half years, and never dragged him off to the bedroom? Until April? What the hell's the matter with you people? I'm not sure who to feel more sorry for – Chuck or you!"

Sarah's embarrassment faded, and she started laughing. "It was rough on both of us, believe me."

"What kept you from him? Is it some sort of doctor/ patient thing? An agent's not allowed to touch her asset, no matter how cute he is?" Ellie was genuinely curious.

"Uh, no. It's actually just the opposite. Back when Chuck was just an asset, my bosses would probably have been thrilled if I slept with him. They'd think that if I did, I would make Chuck completely dependent on me, and totally devoted to doing whatever I said. I could hand out sex like a doggie treat anytime Chuck behaved, and punish him by withholding it when he didn't. "

Ellie grimaced in disgust "Oh, that's just awful. I always hated the girls in my sorority that would do that to their boyfriends" … but quickly, her eyes grew wide again, this time a smile formed. "But you didn't do that" she said.

Sarah smiled a little self-consciously and shook her head. "nope. I mean from one way of looking at it I _should_ have. It was my job to control him and get him to do whatever the Agency wanted, but…" she shrugged. "I don't think it really would of worked. Actually, scratch that. It _definitely_ wouldn't have worked. For two reasons. First of all, Chuck's a really _really_ nice and respectful guy. I think he'd be able to tell if I was just pretending to be in the mood for sex – is this too much information?"

Ellie shook her head, "Not really. We're getting close, but we're not there yet."

"Okay. And Chuck is definitely not the kind of guy who'd pressure a woman into sex. Almost as if he had a strong big sister who taught him how to respect women." She flashed a grin towards Ellie "So he'd probably be sensitive if he thought I was putting on an act for him, and then he'd want to talk about what was bothering me. So that's one way it wouldn't work."

"What's the other reason?"

Sarah blushed again "Well… the theory is that if a female agent sleeps with her male asset, it'd be to control him, and to make him dependent on her. Well, now that I've been sleeping with him for a few months I can tell you without going into details that making him beg for sex is definitely not in the cards – and that _I_ am every bit as dependent on _him_ as he is on me –maybe even more so!"

Ellie's hand flew up to her mouth as she suppressed a delighted squeal and laughed through it. It proved contagious, as Sarah started laughing too, as an embarrassing blush crept up her neck, and turned her face a deep red.

"You know, in a weird way, that's the most romantic thing I've ever heard." Ellie said as soon as she composed herself.

"Yeah", Sarah admitted. "So, yeah. We've been together since April, 100% totally for real. And when finally got together, we stayed in a French train compartment for three days straight and didn't come out."

Another boisterous burst of laughter from Ellie. "Ugh! Okay… we're coming … coming up to the line now." Ellie gasped between laughs, while making a slashing motion with her hand signaling for Sarah to stop. The two women continued to giggle and as a third party came up to their table.

"Ladies how're we doing?" Devon asked as he bent down to give Ellie a kiss on the cheek.

Sarah was regaining her composure, and said "We're good. I was just finding out the hard way about what I can and can't say about Chuck in front of your wife." Although done laughing, she still had a huge smile on her face.

"Awesome. Can't say how happy I am to see you two getting along."

"Yeah, I'd say we're pretty much better now." Ellie said through a smile. "Sounds like you have a brother-in- law who can hold his head up high amongst men. And apparently for our second honeymoon we're taking a train trip all throughout France. It sounds like the rails have some sort of aphrodisiac qualities. So ..." she smiled broader, "_three days_?"

Sarah nodded. "Yep three days." As she felt a blush appear again, she couldn't resist adding "I think the room service guys where glad to see us leave." Ellie was laughing again, as Sarah continued "Probably housekeeping as well." Ellie's hand was again to her mouth, shaking a little in her chair. Sarah was delighted to see her so pleased.

"I hope…" Ellie began as she tried to catch her breath "… I hope that the bed … survived at least", she laughed again as Sarah joined in.

Sarah waited for them to both stop laughing before finishing. "Nope"

This time the laughter took much longer to fade away, but once everyone had regained their composures, Ellie went back to work … and finished the last half of her shift in much better spirits then she did the first half.

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**Ocean City, New Jersey**

Sydney Davenport had never seen a water gun battle in the surf before and there was a lively debate as to who had won. Her fiancé's older nephew Jack was saying he won. Sean was saying he won. Jamie settled the debate by tackling both his nephews into the surf, which might not have answered the question, but it did change the subject.

"Yuck! Seaweed!" Jack squealed, as is foot swiped on something icky. Jamie gave him a helping hand up, and directed the two of them back up to the array of beach blankets that marked the Reagan family beach site, perhaps 30 yards from the surf line, where Linda relaxed in a beach chair. Beside Linda, on her right side, Danny relaxed with the radio, taking in the Yankees/Sox game. As her two sons approached, she snatched their two rolled up beach towels and playfully chucked them at each, Jack catching his Superman towel in midair, but Sean dropping his Spider-Man towel into the sand, forcing him to shake it off.

Sydney mimicked the maneuver by throwing a rolled up beach towel at her own big kid/fiancé, which he deftly caught and rolled out, his being a splashy red sailboat theme. He swirled it about his shoulders, and plopped to the sand on he and Sydney's own blanket.

Linda gave her brother-in-law an appreciative glance as he sat. "Gotta say Jamie, I'm liking the new look. Police academy is treating you well."

"Hey." Danny faux-complained from her right.

"Sorry hon, you have a hot kid brother." Linda deadpanned back.

"See, sweetie?" Sydney purred. "I'm not the only one who's noticed." She leaned in to claim Jamie's lips for a kiss, which she only kept chaste for fear of scandalizing Jack and Sean. It was true. Jamie had always been somewhat athletic, keeping in shape with basketball, but the intensive weight and cardio training that had made up his first few weeks had begun to show early on. Now he was in his third month of it, and the physical training was now balanced out with an equal amount of classwork. Jamie's physical form had plateaued at a very nice place. She smiled again as she kissed Jamie once more.

"Ugh, gross. Mushy stuff." Sean growled.

"Yeah, well 'Treating me well would be a bit of a stretch'", Jamie shyly mumbled. "But I am doing pretty well at it." Sydney gave him one more peck before caressing his towel draped shoulders.

Sydney thought that the two nephews were a delight- they were much better behaved then any of the children she had babysat years ago. As such at this, her first family vacation with the whole Reagan clan, she had provided Jack and Sean with a brand new sand castle building kit set – essentially buckets shaped like castle walls, turrets, ramparts and the like. She handed them the mesh bag with a challenging look. "So, sand castle time?"

"What do you say to Sydney, boys?" Linda demanded.

"Thank you!" the two boys said in unison, as they opened up the mesh bag and began to sort things out. Jamie glanced around the moderately crowded beach, looking for an appropriate nearby site for Castle Reagan.

Just as the boys got started, four long shadows approached the construction site from the rear. Erin and Nicky, both with ice cream bowls in hand approached, and a pace or two behind them came Frank and Henry, both with two fishing rods, tackle boxes and other fishing apparatus.

Jamie looked up at his sister and niece. "You're here just in time for Project Sandcastle."

"Uh,oh… " Nicky said. "I think that grandpa and great gramps have other plans."

"That jetty over there looks mighty unoccupied." Henry informed "If I know my fish-and I do- they'll just love to hang out there where they think nobody's going to bother them. Anyone in the mood to show them different?"

Sean and Jack suddenly looked a little bit torn, stuck as they were before two equally alluring possibilities. Either they could stay here and build the most amazing sandcastle in the history of sand castles – using the new toys Sydney had gotten to boot … or they could go off with Henry and Frank, hike the point of one of the jetties that protruded from the beach, and fish until their hearts content.

"Oooooh." Henry said in mock sympathy. "decisions, decisions."

"I think your Aunt Erin and Cousin Nicky made a discovery, boys" Frank pitched in.

"Yes!" Erin exclaimed, pretending to be excited for her nephews' benefit. "They just opened up a new ice cream stand on the boardwalk, on the way to the jetty. Nicky, how many flavors did they have?"

"Oh, I saw at least twenty." Nicky smiled, and deliberately and dramatically savored a spoonful of her own chocolate chip ice cream. "Mmmmm"

"If you guys want, we could stop by and see which ice cream is the best there …" Frank offered.

And upon such factors, momentous decisions were made. Sean and Jack abandoned the Castle Reagan project, and fell in behind the two patriarchs. Sydney's sandcastle building pails were nice, but there was ice cream to be devoured and luckless fish to prey upon. The foursome of the Reagan clan were soon on their way to the jetty.

"So, what'd we miss?" Erin asked, finding a spot she liked on the third beach blanket, to the right of Danny and Linda as Nicky charged down to the shoreline for a quick dip.

"Sox are up 4-2. Them bums." Danny reported glumly.

"Well, Sydney was the boys' favorite girl in the whole wide world … for about thirty seconds." Linda reported, earning a grin from Sydney, as she and Jamie replaced the scattered sand castle building toys back into the mesh bag.

Erin looked a little hesitant. "Sooo, do you guys really have to go back tomorrow night?"

Jamie nodded regretfully. "Yeah. After the first round of exams, I actually have a decent shot of graduating in the top tier- there's a long way to go, of course, but I'm still in the running. Let's just say being late on Monday morning isn't in the cards. Sorry."

"And I'm his ride." Sydney informed.

"Shame." Linda groused a little. "Looks like no double date for couple's day."

"Oh. Yeah, hadn't thought of that." Jamie said.

"Couple's day?" Sydney wanted to know.

"Usually when we do vaycay, it's a long weekend." Linda explained. "One of those nights the couples – Danny and I take a day off and sneak up to Atlantic City for an overnight. Go dancing, drinking, gamble a little, spend the night at a nice hotel. Frank and Henry – and Mary when she was alive -kept the kids occupied with the Lighthouse Adventure."

"Yeah," Danny said with a grin. "Get this- dad packs up the car and takes the kids all the way down to Cape May … then they visit every lighthouse, driving all the way up the Jersey shore until they hit New York. Meanwhile, we're in A.C. doing our own thing. It's genius. "

"We've been doing it since Nicky was little, we used to double date when it was Jack and I" Erin informed, slightly grumpy.

"Part of me was hoping against hope that you two might be able to come with this time" Linda said.

"Oh that sounds so nice." Sydney thrilled. "Shame that we'll be back home tomorrow n-." She was interrupted by her phone in her beach bag. Retrieving and taking a glance at it she softly muttered "Hell no", before silencing it and putting it back in the bag.

Jamie queried "Do I even have to ask?"

A curt nod from Sydney. Knowing that Linda, Danny and Erin could not have missed that, she explained "My mom and I are in a fight, except she doesn't know it yet."

"Over Tuesday?" Jamie pressed.

Another nod, and Sydney put on her sunglasses, and reclined on her spot of the beach blanket to hopefully telegraph that she didn't want to talk about it much further. Danny was content to go back to the game, as the Yankees were staging a rally. Erin and Linda continued to toss inquiring looks Jamie's way.

Jaime sought to respect his fiancée's wishes not to elaborate, and satisfy his sister and sister in law's curiosities at the same time. Silently he mouthed to them "It got ugly".

Despite Jamie's attempts at stealth, Sydney noticed and sighed. "The short version is that my mom really laid into Jamie over dinner Tuesday night. I get that she's not thrilled with him wanting to be a cop –after all _I'm_ still getting used to it – but she seriously crossed the line. She called him the King of the Bait and Switch. I told her if she ever spoke to Jamie like that again, I'd drag him off to Vegas, and the next time she saw me we'd be married. That shut her up. So mommy gets the silent treatment for a few days. I even told her not to call this weekend- we're on 'police holiday'"

Jamie took his perch at the end of the line formed by Erin, Danny, Linda and Sydney, and joined his fiancée in an effort to work on their tans.

Erin and Linda shared a silent, impressed look. Sydney had a certain stubbornness that suggested she'd fit right in on the Reagan family tree.

Linda Reagan had to hand it to Sydney – the newcomer was also taking the concept of "police holiday" in stride. Cops' families … and nurses' families for that matter… never had any hope of taking off the full Memorial Day weekend—such was simply the way with emergency services- working as they did when others had off- and so the Reagan family had always searched for a weekend in mid to late June to visit the seashore in either Long Island or the Jersey shore, depending on circumstances. Danny affectionately called it "Police Memorial Day." –typically one of the first weekends after the school year let out where the whole family could hit the beach.

The pleasures of weekends like this aside, Linda knew that Sydney was bracing herself for Jamie's completion of the academy and the stresses and that would come with it starting on the first day. First of all there would be the obvious terrors and horrors - the fears that every kiss goodbye could be the last kiss ever – that any given shift could prove to be lethal to Jamie, and that the never ending social problem of crime could deprive her of her love forever.

A short distance behind the physical danger were the psychological damages she'd have to watch Jamie absorb ...the shock at having to witness so much human depravity and misfortune and deal with murderers, rapists, child abusers, drug dealers, wife beaters – people that she and Jamie had spent their entire lives never coming into contact with would be riding in Jamie's back seat now. Sydney would now have to watch the man she loved be affected by seeing all these bad things happen to good people.

On top of all this were the other inconveniences –mundane compared to the other problems, but just as real- that emergency work demanded. Long shifts, 11-7 "graveyard" shifts, cancelled or postponed vacations, call-ins in times of disaster. Jamie was signing both himself and Sydney up for lonely nights, odd sleep schedules, and haphazard romance schedules. Everything Linda had gone through with her Danny, Sydney was about to put herself through.

Perhaps worst of all for the cop's spouse or spouse-to-be was the emotional disconnect. Going into a dangerous situation like Danny did, and Jamie would be could be both scary and exciting for the participants, not unlike a roller coaster or an extreme sport. For a loved one waiting at home, or working their own job, it wasn't exciting. It was simply scary.

How would Sydney handle all of this? Just as it was in the case of the police officer himself or herself, there was no way to be sure. Either way it was going to be a huge adjustment for her, especially since when she and Jamie dated and fell in love, he had big plans on being a lawyer, not a cop, hence Mrs Davenport's 'bait-and-switch' crack. Sydney was literally flying blind into some pretty heavy weather.

Regular men and women who wanted to be cops had a six month NYPD academy to teach them how to do it. People who were in love with cops could use a similarly involved school, but had none.

Linda's sigh was one of contentment for herself, and concern for Sydney... like everyone else who were brave enough to love emergency service people, Sydney would simply have to do the best she could.


	3. 2011- A Day of News

_**A/N:**__ There's actually a bit more prologue to go. The steak of our adventure takes place in the present year, so we're going to peek in a few more times on our two cadres of heroes, as Chuck wraps up its canonical run, and Blue Bloods gets to its current point. But that doesn't mean we can't have our two worlds mix it up a little bit now. _

_Chuck's Clyde Decker was such a loathsome character that pretty much any nasty or stupid thing he does sounds in character for him. _

_It's not just in keeping with Frank Reagan's character that he distains anyone who underestimates Baker, by season 3 it's canon, and he calls out an old friend who treats her as eye candy. Note that there's a coffee machine in Frank's office. He gets his own coffee. An NYPD detective on staff is to be put to much better use. _

_A word of warning for upcoming chapters: The office of Police Commissioner is inherently political and people like Frank Reagan have to deal with and have opinions on hot button political issues. Part of the charm of __Blue Bloods__ is the dinner scene every week where the characters debate social values behind the law and law enforcement, and how they relate to hot button issues. Since I plan on bringing the Chuck and Blue Bloods worlds together, there's going to be some biting and scratching on such topics as vigilantism, due process and gun control. I'm going to give the characters opinions that are in-character for them, not opinions that I necessarily agree or disagree with. Feel free to write whatever you want in the reviews, but I don't think the review sections are the places to start real-world debates for these issues. _

_On that note, __Chuck's__ characters operate in a mostly fictitious parallel-to-the-real-world post 9/11 - national security world that includes the possibilities of indefinite detention, black sites, and enhanced interrogation. On the other hand __Blue Bloods__ in its first season deals with the nightmare scenario of once-good guys (cops) who now think themselves above the law. The takedown of the Blue Templar, who are responsible for the murder of Joe Reagan can only have a profound effect on anyone close to it, including Jamie._

_I don't own either __Chuck__ or __Blue Bloods__._

**Prologue- 2011**

**February 2011**

**New York City, New York **

**Manhattan**

**One Police Plaza**

"Morning, Baker" Commissioner Frank Reagan said cheerily as he strode into his office on the 14th floor of One Police Plaza. Abigail was already on her feet, her arms loaded up with an assortment of thick folders, each one a report that clamored – in their own, silent inanimate way- for top cop's attention. Each one of course, would need to be assigned its own place in the pecking order, and each one was at risk of being shunted aside in the event that something unexpected was to come up.

And something unexpected always did.

"Mayor Russo is insisting on being your 10:00 appointment this morning," Baker informed, earning a quizzical glance from Reagan. If Mayor Francis Russo wanted an unscheduled meeting, he'd of course get one. But what for? Typically the mayor scheduled these things well in advance, and when he didn't, typically they meant he was close to panicking on an explosive case that had political ramifications.

The glance turned into a thoughtful stare towards the picture of Theodore Roosevelt on his office. "Did anything happen last night that's newsworthy?"

That earned him a sardonic glance from Abigail. Almost the entire stack of reports that she had just placed on the center of his calendar ink blotter was "newsworthy". They were the daily reports about yesterday's events for all 77 NYPD patrol precincts, all 12 transit patrol districts, and all 9 housing bureau areas. To make the documentation slightly wieldier, the precincts were grouped into 8 patrol districts, 3 transit boroughs, and 3 housing boroughs, leaving Frank a … "convenient" … 14 reports to flip through, rather than the eye-numbing 98.

Of course most of these precincts had nothing more exciting to report over the last 24 hours then the quiet nights of a residential neighborhood – fender benders, neighbor disputes, car vandalisms, car break ins and medical calls. Other precincts that guarded the shopping districts had business break-ins, vehicle break ins, or vehicle thefts. And a few of the busier districts had the little Post-It note red flags on their reports. These were the violent crimes. Any day, they could affect any precinct, and there was no way to predict which unlucky precinct would be the one where the worst news of the day happened … the precinct whose report found its way to the top of Frank's pile.

"I mean '_anything newsworthy that the mayor probably cares_ _about'_". Frank growled, catching Abigail's look.

"One homicide in the Bronx, a domestic dispute that went very badly. One armed robbery at a bodega in Brooklyn, no casualties, and another one on the subway platform at South Ferry, again no casualties."

"Those are all the reds?" Frank asked, referring to the red tags that Abigail always placed on the violent files.

"Those are all the reds" Abigail confirmed.

Reagan pursed his lips. "Mmmmm. Nothing that the mayor would want to make a surprise visit for."

Garret Moore soon entered and took up his place in front of Reagan's desk, and unceremoniously began with his report for the day. "I've got a few remarks together, just in case you want to change your mind about the St. Patty's parade next month."

"That was a 'yes' to the parade, but still a 'no' to the speech, Garret."

"I'll put them on notecards. You'll change your mind" he said with confidence.

"Garret… Okay. Fine. Notecards." Reagan capitulated. "But later. The mayor's coming in today. At 10."

"Brunch with the mayor?" Garret asked

"He did _not_ suggest it was a brunch." Abigail informed.

Frank held up his three files. "Well whatever it is, let's assume that it's _not_ about these three reds today. Abigail, get the district chiefs for Manhattan Transit, Bronx and Brooklyn …."

"South" Abigail provided.

"Get Manhattan Transit and Brooklyn South on the phone, and tell them I want regular updates on the two armed robberies. Every four hours, I want them to make your phone ring. I'll assume that the domestic was a grounder?" Frank said, employing the old fashioned NYPD slang for a crime that left little doubt as to who the perpetrator was, and resulted in a quick arrest. Just as many plays in baseball were simply about catching ground balls, and throwing to first base for the easy out, many crimes, even some tragic ones, the police had to solve were quickly put to rest.

"Grounder. I believe so, but I'll call Bronx deputy chief to verify."

"Good. Thanks, Baker." Frank said as the peerlessly efficient aide disappeared from the office.

Thrilled at having the office for the time, Garret asked "Now for the St. Patty's day notes?"

Various chores were performed in the two hours, most of them centering on Reagan's expected speech next month. A few over-dogged reporters wanted sound bites in regard to the robberies, clearly not understanding the fact that while Reagan did in fact give attention to every violent crime, the perception of him giving such attention on TV served to augment the fear factor of the crime. Were the commissioner to comment on every single mugging, the perception could quickly escalate to seem as if the mugging problem was so bad, that the commissioner was overly concerned… which he wasn't. Muggers were typically not master villains, and typically lacked forethought and planning, and these two today would probably quickly be snatched.

At 10:09, Mayor Frank Russo entered, ushered in by Abigail. Reagan and Garret Moore rose in greeting.

"Hi, Frank. Thanks for meeting on short notice." Mayor Russo began. "Last night I teleconferenced with the Secretary of State. Time for a pop geography quiz. Anyone know offhand where Costa Gravas is?"

"Oh, I know this one" Garret shut his eyes in faux concentration. Giving up, he shrugged. "I was wrong. I don't."

"I'm pretty sure we keep it somewhere between Cuba and Puerto Rico, unless it's floated away." Reagan said.

"Pretty much," Mayor Russo admitted. "Well, it seems like they've had an attempted coup a few months back, and the once-upon-a-time-dictator turned legit president needs to revamp their state security forces. They suddenly have uhhh …a few openings in the ranks." Mayor Russo allowed himself a smile.

"Well that's all good for them", Reagan allowed, still not sure why the mayor was here about this at 10:00 in the morning.

"Well apparently the premier down there, one Alejandro Goya, pretty much grew up watching every American-cop show ever. He's in love with the NYPD, and wants to pattern his new forces after it. The Sec State's real excited about this- just think of it, a former communist regime with a state security force that actually respects the rights of its people."

Now Frank was impressed. "It's a step in the right direction. Actually a lot of steps in the right direction."

"Right?" The mayor chortled with glee. "And our very own NYPD gets bragging rights about being the template. I mean forget about what we've been trying to do in Iraq for the last few years, Frank- this is nation-building for real! And the NYPD's a part of it.!"

Frank's face fell. He was pretty sure his son Danny, a Marine and a veteran of Gulf War II's Fallujah Campaign would not be happy with Mayor Russo's dismissal of American efforts there. He was pretty sure he himself wasn't happy with it either.

Russo, being Russo, didn't notice the change in Frank's demeanor as he got to the meat and potatoes of his mission here. His face turned serious for a second. "It does require you to send a task force down there. Say about 20 guys and girls. Some from recruiting, some from training, maybe one or two from Internal Affairs. Now, we need to make this sing as well as possible, Frank. You pick your guys, and I want them to be good."

Frank smiled. "I'll send them the second best guys I have. The best ones I keep here for myself. Maybe we can even invite a Costa Gravan or two up to check out the academy."

"Great idea, Frank. We'll invite them ourselves. Let's set up a video conference tomorrow with both our SecState and theirs."

"I like that idea, Mr. Mayor. I take it your guys will arrange it through Baker this afternoon?"

"You know it, Frank. This is going to be freaking great!" Mayor Russo turned to leave. Outside the door he collected his body guard, and made for the elevators.

Frank allowed himself a smile. It wasn't very often that he and Mayor Frank Russo agreed on anything, and the moments they did were probably ones to treasure. His NYPD, America's premier law enforcement agency was often looked up to as a model for other departments. It was indeed an honor for a sovereign nation to want to emulate it.

Garret interrupted his reverie. "Okay. St. Patty's day notes again."

Baker burst in, interrupting Garett's interruption "Deputy Chief Sickles on line three"

Frank held up his hand for Garret's silence. Deputy Chief James Sickles was in charge of the Manhattan Transit borough, and his call, well before Frank's four hour update demand, probably heralded good news. "Yeah James … okay… Good…. And you like him for it? … Okay that's good news." He glanced at the clock, then down again at one of the red tagged files. "Great. I count less than seven hours from 911 to collar. That's a good clock. Good work to your squad. Tell them I said so."

"One in custody for this morning's South Ferry platform mugging." Frank said, contented. While the fact that someone had gotten mugged and their night ruined was not ideal, the quick arrest pleased him.

"We're tinplating for Costa Gravas, a quick turnaround on a case. We might have a great day if we're not too careful." Garret grinned.

Abigail was once more through the door. "Sir, the mayor has returned, and he has company this time."

Reagan's brow furrowed. _A friend? What could this mean?_

Mayor Russo's head popped through the door, beaming. "The cat came back, and he dragged in some good news." Russo then bounced back into the office.

The other man passed by Abigail as he came into the office. "Thanks, hon" he said to her. Holding out a wallet with his credentials, he introduced himself "Clyde Decker, CIA." He put his wallet back and offered his hand with a smooth, oily, toothy smile, not realizing that he was already on Commissioner Frank Reagan's – and less importantly Garrett's – bad side.

Abigail Baker was a Detective, 2nd grade with eleven years' experience in the NYPD. Because she had a desk near the PC's office, announced his frequent visitors, organized his prodigious paper workload, and was very attractive, some under-informed –but just as often downright foolish - visitors sometimes mistook her for a secretary, such as one a CEO of a company would have, or some other office gofer whose essential tasks involved fetching coffee, answering the phones, and looking pretty.

The truth was that this "secretary" was in charge of Frank's personal protective detail and always carried a fully loaded Glock 26, with an extra magazine of ammunition. With it, she had to qualify annually simply to remain a police officer, and quarterly to command his detail. She was a 9/11 responder at The Pile inher rookie year. She also had 6 years of patrol, 2 years as a narcotics investigator and 3 as a special victims (sex crimes) investigator under her belt, having witnessed more horror and heroism then many cops, some soldiers in war time, and any soldier in peacetime. She had taken night classes in public relations, and when any person had a scheduled meeting with the PC on her calendar, she investigated and quickly learned everything about them, practically down to their favorite breakfast cereal. Her position in the NYPD was far closer to a general's aide-de-camp than anyone from the secretary's pool. Frank Reagan often had to battle wits with the people who came to visit him in this office, and in these battles, Baker's preparatory research was a powerful saber at his side.

Frank Reagan preferred to take his time and evaluate each individual, and so get the best measure of any individual he was to ally with or oppose. But anyone who disrespected or belittled Baker made it easy for Frank to peg them as short sighted, arrogant, and prone to underestimating things and people they didn't understand. He had never been wrong about it before. Frank would try to give this Clyde Decker the benefit of the doubt, but so far, he didn't like him.

"That'll be all, _Detective_ Baker," Frank flashed his most polite smile, and stressed Baker's title for Decker's benefit. Then, as formality demanded, he shook Decker's hand.

Abigail gave her boss a professionally courteous smile, and left.

"Don't we usually get our national intel briefings from the NSA?" Garret wondered aloud.

"This is totally off the books" Decker beamed. "I was just up the way raising a little hell at the federal building, and I'd thought you'd like to hear the good news. Gun violence in your town is probably about to go down. Hard and fast."

Frank arched an eyebrow, gestured for Decker and the mayor to sit, and circled around to the comfy chair behind his desk. Decker's news was about to be either miraculous or ridiculous, and from what little Reagan knew about Decker, he'd place a shiny nickel on the latter. Either way, the comfy chair would be nice.

"And how is this wonderful thing going to happen for us?" Reagan asked.

Sitting down, Decker grinned widely. "Late last night Alexi Volkoff was taken into custody in California. His offices are pretty much an empty shell, and Volkoff Industries is about to be boarded up."

Frank kept his face impassive. Volkoff Industries was indeed one of the world's leading arms manufacturers. In the bizarre world's fair that was international weapons making, Volkoff ranked next to Kalashnikov and Makarov as Russian made weapons. Their guns were associated with the country, the same way that Walther was associated with Germany, Glock with Austria, and Colt, Smith and Wesson, and Ruger were with the United States. Volkoff pistols were indeed commonly found in on plenty of street thugs. True to Russian form, Volkoff's weapons were reliable – and cheap, just like Kalashnikovs and Makarovs were.

"So he's in jail now?" Reagan asked.

"Forever!" Decker looked as if he'd burst with pride.

Reagan could only manage a smile that he hoped didn't look condescending. The arrest of one weapons manufacturer on God-knows-what charge did nothing to scoop up the weapons he'd been making for the last thirty years. It wasn't as if arms dealing were a vampire movie, and killing the head vampire suddenly caused all the evil he'd spawned fall asleep and recover. Whatever guns Volkoff had manufactured in the last 30 years were out there, most of them probably in the hands of various militaries, others on the walls and gun cabinets of collectors,... and some of them falling into the hands of criminals. They were still going to be out there tomorrow and for a lot more tomorrows.

"Well Agent Decker, I'm very happy to hear that. It's always good news when a criminal is put behind bars where he belongs."

"Good news!?" Russo boomed, truly perplexed by Reagan's lack of enthusiasm. "Isn't it great? Frank how many guns do you get off the street in any given year?"

"Anywhere between 3,000 to not-quite 4,000."

"And how many of those are Volkoff Industries Weapons?" Decker challenged.

"Possibly as many as ten percent .Certianly more than five percent." Frank allowed. _Of course the criminals who would be getting their hands on Volkoff weapons will have to make do with one of the other fifty or so gun manufacturers … or use their older Volkoff guns. _

"Seems to me that you can work on your re-election victory speech, your honor" Decker puffed, as he stood and made ready to leave.

Frank also rose to show him the door – and tried hard not to burst out laughing. He silently hoped the mayor would linger behind so he could set him straight on how the world worked. He wasn't looking forward to that. He looked so happy at the idea of what he saw as a guaranteed 5-10% drop in gun crime. It would be like telling his grandsons that there was no Santa Claus. Still, he allowed a courteous "Thank you for the good news and for your efforts."

"Hey, any time. We don't get to take a lot of credit at the CIA- secrets are our business and all that. So it's great to let the right people steal the credit when we can." Decker left, and happily for Reagan, Mayor Russo stayed behind.

Unhappily for Reagan, Russo had a huge, eager grin on his face. "So… when do you think we'll feel the effects of no-more-Volkoff?"

"Mr. Mayor, I'll be honest. Probably never. They arrested one man, but they didn't pick up any guns that were destined for our streets- or any ones streets. Arresting Alexi Volkoff doesn't make people stop using the Volkoff weapons that are still out there. If he's right about the company closing down – and I say that's a pretty big "if", by the way - and there'll be no new Volkoff pistols made… then that just means that wannabe thugs and gangsters will switch over to another make and model. Unfortunately our criminals aren't known for brand name loyalty. So, I'm happy that a criminal went to jail, but no, it's not a godsend for our crime statistics."

Russo looked shocked, as if he'd found a winning lottery ticket that turned out to be a mean spirited practical joke. "You're serious."

"I'm serious." Frank nodded.

Russo sighed. "Frank, has anyone told you that you can be a real buzzkill?"

Regan smiled "Costa Gravas, your honor. It's still a good day."

Russo left dejected. Garrett sympathized as he shut the door. "What the heck just happened? Did we get an ad-hoc security briefing from CIA?"

Reagan shook his head. "One man decided it'd be fun to cultivate political contacts with either the mayor or myself. Probably looking towards his post-Agency future. If it were anything official, the intel we got would have meant something."

Russo left dejected. Garrett sympathized as he shut the door. "What the heck just happened? Did we get an ad-hoc security briefing from CIA?"

Reagan shook his head. "One man decided it'd be fun to cultivate political contacts with either the mayor or myself. Probably looking towards his post-Agency future. If it were anything official, the intel we got would have meant something."

Garret scoffed bitterly as he checked his cell phone. Sure enough, the arrest of Alexi Volkoff in Bishop County, California was one of the headlining stories on his CNN ap. "Gee, sure is swell of that nice CIA agent to come in and tell us something the entire world's reading about over their lunch break. I would have hated to think they were wasting time tracking the money of terrorists and drug dealers, or dumb stuff like that."

Abigail knocked again and entered. "Deputy Chief Wayne on line two"

Frank and Garret shared a look of victory. Chief Michael Wayne was in charge of the Brooklyn South district, and it was likely this was a report on the other mugging. Clyde Decker aside, the news from Costa Gravas, and the apprehension of all three perpetrators from all three violent crimes from last night meant that Garret was right - today was going to be a good day.


	4. 2011 The Wedding (part 1)

**Prologue -May 2011**

_**A/N:**__ The two shows are in different genres, and so I felt I needed to bridge the gap between them. Carina was always going to be a big part of that bridge, seeing as how she's the only person in the Chuckiverse who's actually in law enforcement. Carina is going to be huge, and I'm champing at the bit to show her as a competent cop (she's DEA, remember, not CIA as per Chuck vs The Wookie), and not just an oversexed, hot tempered, redheaded version of Sarah. But don't worry, she'll still be oversexed, although I plan to keep the rating here at a T._

_Zondra's going to be even more fun to write for as she's such a question mark. She and Carina have cameos at best in Chuck vs the Cliffhanger, and we only really see her in Chuck vs The Cat Squad… except that we don't, really. She's a red herring for most of the show. The treacherous Amy actually gets a better explanation (as villains always do) then the real Zondra. Real Zondra only has a few lines making up with Sarah at the end of the ep, since she's under a cloud of suspicion for most of the show, and that suspicion clouds her lines, actions, and our perception of her. _

_I break ranks with some of my fellow Chuck fans about my feelings for Hannah. Ultimately she was an obstacle in Charah's road towards getting together, and in the Chuck fandom, things that get in the way of Charah get run over - and vilified with extreme prejudice. But I think the unwelcome character was well written, and even sympathetic. Innocent of any wrongdoing, Hannah leaves the show bitter and heartbroken thinking that Chuck simply used her for sex, and Chuck (who didn't) can't correct her without explaining his spy life to her. _

_IN TV land, police officers work out of what I call The OmniPrecinct – a police precinct that seems to cover the entire city. Every police show set in New York (NYPD Blue, Law &amp; Order, Blue Bloods) has the same problem when dealing with those sophisticated audiences who know anything about New York – What precinct to the cops work out of? _

_A city loaded with nifty landmarks to use as backdrops like New York has the problem of these landmarks being scattered all throughout the city, often miles and miles apart from each other (NYC is REALLY big, as you may have heard) The precincts/districts of a real life big city, on the other hand are fixed… and are sometimes located in non- photogenic or boring areas. Thus, in real life, a cop who had a case in Chinatown one week would NEVER catch a case in Brighton Beach the next week. Nor would Danny and Jackie investigate a shooting on Park Avenue one week … then investigate a body found by the Brooklyn Bridge the next. Jamie and Renzuli/Vinny/Eddie seem to patrol all over the city. Show writers help along the suspension of disbelief by usually assigning the fictitious cops to precincts that don't exist in real life, and hand wave the fact that our favorite cops are all over the map of New York from week to week. I think I gotta ask for the same leniency in police geography that show writers always do. In Blue Bloods, all the cops seem to work out of the Twelfth Precinct (which doesn't exist), as Jamie and Danny have enough scenes in the same station house to suggest that while Danny and his partner are working upstairs, Jamie is standing for roll call downstairs. _

_In case you were curious, if the below traffic stop scene happened in real life, it'd take place in New York's 17__th__ Precinct. That'll save you the time of looking it up. (Don't be embarrassed, I'd look it up too.)_

**Prologue - May 2011**

C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C

**Los Angeles, California**

**Grand Ambassador Hotel &amp; Convention Center**

**Bridal Chamber**

Zondra Rizzo's eyes flitted about the room in something close to a panic. She searched her teammates' eyes for any semblance of a plan, promise of support, or a reassurance that either had any idea what she should do. But there was none – both were indisposed.

Carina's attention was preoccupied by the two men -one burly, the other bearded- who were arguing over her. Sarah was tightly held by a third man, and didn't even notice her plight. Zondra was for the moment on her own.

The three members of the old CAT squad whose very survival once depended on sex appeal and firepower now found themselves weaponless. There would be no extraction, running away was not an option – and neither was fighting, as there were no enemies nearby.

Trembling, her palms sweating, Zondra made her way to Carina. "Carina, what happens next? I'm not sure what to do."

"You think _you're_ having problems?" Carina snapped. "I'm the one who can't get a date to save my life. This hasn't happened to me since well before puberty." In despair she flung her hand in a frustrated gesture at the two men who were bickering about her. Neither John Casey nor Morgan Grimes wanted the honor of escorting her into the reception hall when the bridal court was announced. And with that, she was pretty much out of men.

True, there were two more guys there in the bridal chamber. One of them, Devon was _smoking_ hot … but he was married, his wife Ellie was never further than five feet away from him, and Sarah had vehemently decreed him to be absolutely, positively, undeniably, non-negotiable-ly off limits. The other one, Chuckie, was the newly minted groom, and was of course reserved for Sarah. Carina didn't know a lot about weddings- it was her first one- but she did know that. That left her with Casey or Morgan … and a badly bruised ego.

Carina Miller, who could barely walk into a nightclub in New York, or hail a taxicab in DC without receiving a half dozen propositions found herself a bit of a pariah at her oldest friend's wedding reception.

"Grimes, I am not walking with Carina. If you bring it up again, I'm going to dismember you into small pieces." Casey growled threateningly.

"Yeah, but Casey" Morgan countered. "If I walk with Carina, it's going to upset Alex. And if Alex gets upset because of something I did, then you'll dismember me into even _smaller_ pieces, won't you?"

Casey had to allow a grunt of agreement. Inflicting inconvenience on him called for one kind of retribution. Inflicting pain on his daughter called for another, far more terrifying sort of vengeance. He maintained his glower at Morgan, but said no more as the diminutive bearded one played his trump card.

"Besides, Sarah promised that I wouldn't have to walk with Carina."

Wondering if this is how a leper felt like back in biblical times, Carina repeated disbelievingly "'Wouldn't … _have_ to…_'_ Guys I'm _standing right here_!" Carina practically shouted in despair. "Is it really the end of the world for one of you guys to walk out with me?"

"Yes!" Morgan shot back.

"Probably not, but why chance it?" Casey said at almost the same time.

Nearby, both Devon and Ellie Woodcomb noticed Carina's shout, as well as Morgan and Casey's squabbling. Ellie was amused, Devon was confused.

"Am I missing something big here babe?" Devon wanted to know.

Ellie turned to her husband, grinning from ear to ear. "Morgan had a fling with Carina" she said nodding towards the redhead. "Long before he met Alex. Casey used to run with Carina long before _that_."

Devon's eyes looked like they wanted to pop out of his head. "Morgan and Casey … Eskimo brothers? Woah. Brain stamp."

"Carina's liberated. Don't judge." Ellie said sweetly and quietly. "That and she's Sarah's best friend"

"Baaaabe… _you're_ Sarah's best friend. That's why you're matron …" Ellie's chestnut eyes flashed with menace at her husband's vocabulary choice. "Maid of honor." He quickly corrected.

Although he knew his original word choice was technically correct, as Ellie was both a wife and mother, and thus should proudly carry the word 'Matron' to her title…. Ellie also hated the word, didn't let Devon forget that she hated the word, and once Baby Clara had adopted a tolerable sleep schedule, had worked hard to reestablish her bikini-ready body … as if this upcoming summer were a regular one no different from any other, and as if Devon wasn't in love with her intelligence and wit as well as her looks. Blessed to a level beyond most men in such a wife, Devon decided that being such a grammar tyrant was unproductive at best, and ungrateful to a benevolent universe at worst.

"Ha." Ellie countered "That's because she could count on me to be here and not starting Arab Spring in Libya"

"Oh I don't think so. I think Sarah probably gave out big points for not-having-slept with two of the groom's friends." Devon grinned.

Ellie smiled, and then her face turned slightly serious. "Hey what did I say? Don't judge."

Furious at her two dueling ex-flings, Carina stormed over to the other side of the bridal chamber where the newlyweds cuddled quietly. Sarah Bartowski (nee Walker) sat in her husband's lap. Chuck had his arms around the waist of his new bride and hung onto her like he'd never let go. Sarah would periodically lean backwards and kiss her new hubby's cheek, then rest he head on Chuck's shoulder. Sarah had a quiet smile on her face, and looked rather sleepy – understandable considering the coma she'd come out of in in the last few hours.

Noticing the raging glint in her oldest friend's eyes, Sarah sought to turn away her wrath. "Carina, you're with Casey. Zondra's with Morgan. I promised Alex and Morgan I'd look out for them."

Carina grinned. Now that the bride's mind was made up, Casey was jolly well stuck. "Hear that Casey?" Carina called over, "You're with me. So suck it up, buttercup."

Zondra came up again on Carina's flank asked again "So where did we land on the what-exactly-happens-next thing?"

"Oh, how should I know?" Carina shrugged and gestured to Chuck and Sarah. "Ask the people who have been to weddings before!"

Sarah again picked her head up from Chuck's shoulder and said "This is actually only my second."

Ellie and Devon swooped in to the rescue. "It's really easy Zondra." Ellie said. "In a few minutes, the wedding coordinator is going to ask us to line up, every girl with a guy. The only wild card is going to be our mom and Clara. They're going to go first. Then it's you and Morgan, Carina and Casey, me and Devon, and then Sarah and Chuck. Then the whole bridal party stands at watches as Chuck and Sarah take their first dance together. Then I give a toast, Morgan gives a toast, and we eat. Then we party the night away. But Sarah is recovering, and is taking it easy tonight with the booze. So no tequila shots. For that, I'm your girl."

Zondra calmed slightly. "It sounds so easy. I can't believe I'm freaking out about this. I'm actually sweating. The last time I was sweating there was C-4 and a timer involved."

"Ooooookay…" Devon said, having never gotten used to the comfort level that Chuck, Casey, Sarah, and now Carina and Zondra had with violence and the weapons thereof. "But it sounds like you've got a case of stage fright. Totally different kind of fear then what you're probably used too. Take me, for example. Just because I could deal with messing around inside people's hearts didn't mean I was ready when I had to give my first press conference. And in LA, heart doctors have to give a LOT of them. Just take a deep breath and you'll be fine. You've got a nice light workload."

A waiter showed up with a tray and a pad. "Could I interest you in anything to drink?"

"Oh, hell yeah." Carina said decisively. "Beefeater up."

"Stoli up' Zondra said, the concept of bar service in this bridal room being a welcome revelation.

The recuperating Sarah ordered a ginger ale, and Chuck, in deference to his new bride went with a Sprite.

"Oh, it's okay sweetie, You don't have to stay sober just because I do." Sarah reassured with a soft purr into his ear. Realizing something just now, she perked her head up and whirled around to Ellie. "Oh my God! I just gave my first wifely permission to my husband!"

Ellie beamed at her, her eyes as wide as her smile. "I know, isn't it great!?"

"Oh don't worry about a thing, Walker" Casey wolfishly grinned at the couple. "Grimes, Devon and I have plans for your groom tonight. He's not going to be staying sober for long." To the cocktail waiter he placed a five dollar bill on his tray. "And two Johnny Walker blacks, neat." This wedding- and Sarah's survival- had been hard won victory for Team Bartowski, and the liquor would flow copiously on this Night of Nights, as it was a celebration on so many levels.

"John" Sarah said, holding up her left hand. "It's not 'Walker' anymore. It's Bartowski." He smile was both sweet and serious.

"Wow" Carina gaped "That _is_ going to take some getting used to."

"And furthermore," Sarah's smile turned saucy. "_I'm_ the one who's supposed to have plans for the groom tonight."

Casey groaned, while Carina and Zondra grinned like a pair of Mako sharks.

The door came open and two more important women in Chuck and Sarah's life came in. The first one was very young, very short, and didn't say much, as she held a firm belief that mouths were for suckling on pacifiers. She was carried in by the second woman, Chuck and Ellie's mother, and Sarah's and Devon's mother in law, Mary Bartowski. "And thaaaaaat's one clean Baby Clara …" she beamed, holding up her granddaughter for inspection. Ellie held out her arms to accept her daughter, but Mary demurred, and pivoted over to the newlyweds "… who wants to say hi to her now-it's-official new Aunt Sarah!"

Sarah's eyes flew wide in delight … and a little bit of panic. Although Chuck had held his niece more than a few times, Sarah hadn't very often, preferring to play with Clara's itty bitty fist while Chuck held her. Uncertain of what to do next she looked at Ellie … who pantomimed how she should hold the baby, with her upper arm out from her body, and bent at the elbow 90 degrees. Sarah complied, and Mary deposited her granddaughter in the arms of the aunt. Sarah mouthed silently "Thanks Ellie" to her new sister in law.

Mary then turned to Zondra and Carina. "You girls clear on what happens next?"

"Ellie explained it to us" Zondra nodded. "I think I get it."

The Cold War spy spoke in clipped tones to the two 21st century spies. "Simple two-column deployment; men and women. Clara and I take point, followed by Zondra/Morgan, Carina/Casey, Ellie/Devon and finishing with Sarah/Chuck. At center stage, couples part, men oblique left, women oblique right and assume flanking positions by the wedding party table. And clap for the bride and groom. Clear?"

"Clear!" Zondra and Carina said in unison.

Devon and Ellie were stunned. After a moment, Devon took a step towards Sarah and wondered aloud "Do we have the coolest mother-in-law ever? Or the scariest?"

"Maybe a little of both" Sarah smiled.

BB-BB-BB-BB-BB-BB-BB-BB-BB-BB-BB-BB-BB-BB-BB-BB-BB-BB-BB-BB-BB-BB-BB-BB-BB-BB-BB-BB-BB-BB

**New York City, New York**

**Manhattan Borough **

**General Doubleday Diner**

"I'm on the lookout for a jinx, Sarge. It's bad enough that my company reunion was early." Jamie Reagan said with a grin as he eyed the celebratory ice cream sundae in front of him. Dinner today, including the ice cream was on Sgt. Anthony Renzuli, his immediate supervisor, and training officer/ partner for the last year.

This 4 to 11 shift they were on was Jamie's final shift as a probationary NYPD officer. After this shift, one year after his graduation from the academy, he was automatically promoted from "Probationary Police Officer " to "Police Officer". There was no ceremony, and in a way it wasn't even that special-every rookie, with the exception of the ones who exhibited signs of being unsuited to police work- was expected to pass it. But every young police officer who passed probation breathed a sigh of relief nonetheless.

"Hey kid," Renzuli said, from the other side of the booth, pitching into his own ice cream. "You hear me gripe about how your brother Danny has some bad habits, but one attitude that he's dead on about is this- celebrate your victories. So we're celebrating. And as for jinxes … So far you've got one gun collar, one commendation, and a glowing review by yours truly. You're about as in the bag as these things get, with a measly" he checked his watch "four hours and two minutes to go." Renzuli's eyes narrowed. "to say nothing of you pitching in and helping takin' down Malevski and the Blue Templar. There's probably no rule on how much something like that counts for, but it's gotta count for something."

Jamie winced. His father had personally led the takedown of the rouge faction of crooked cops that called themselves the Blue Templar. They had been corrupt, treacherous, and murderous. When his brother Joe had infiltrated them on behalf of the FBI, they set him up to be "accidentally" murdered during a raid – and then murdered two luckless drug dealers for good measure, so that to the outside world it looked like a raid that went badly.

The takedown of the Templar, on the other hand was fairly smooth. The entire cadre of bent policemen were taken into custody, their weapons sized, and their shields stripped of them. The seized badges, forever stained and now unfit for service, were already melted down and recycled, and their badge numbers inked out. Never again would those cursed badge numbers haunt the honor of the NYPD.

The men themselves would be facing stiff prison sentences in Sing-Sing, Danamora, and Attica, and policemen themselves convicted in crimes faced very hard time indeed. Sonny Malevski, who had personally murdered Joe, decided to settle out of court, and plea bargained with 9mm bullet to his own brain.

Later, Jamie's dad said that he liked to believe that Joe was with them on that bust. And so he had been. Danny had made especially sure that of all the equipment that came with them on the bust, Joe's old set of hand cuffs snapped onto the wrists of one of the cops-gone-bad.

It was a week of finishing unfinished business, cleaning up the department, and bringing justice to those who had thought they had escaped it. … plus Jamie's promotion. Surely a victory for the good guys. And yet Renzuli was a little bit piqued at Jamie, and Jamie knew it. Not only had Jamie kept him in the dark for months about his interactions with the FBI and the Blue Templar, the Reagan family hadn't brought him in for the endgame to bust the dirty cops. Danny Reagan's partner Jackie Curatola had been brought in as backup when the ax dropped on the Templar, but he, Jamie Reagan's partner remained in blissful ignorance of everything.

To a proud and honorable cop like Renzuli, it was hard not to take the slight personally, even though his rational side knew better. Partners were supposed to trust each other in all things, rely on each other for mutual support – Renzuli himself was teaching Jamie that. The kid had learned well, but had been pulling off a clandestine operation all on his own. It hurt Renzuli a little to know that. It also hurt that he wasn't invited into the bust – a party he would have loved to have made. Years ago, Joe Reagan had been Renzuli's first assignment as a TO – Training Officer. He had taken Joe's death hard, and would have liked nothing better than to see the looks on the men of Blue Templar's faces as they were arrested and they imagined their careers burning in a pyre of their own greed, and their worthless futures behind bars.

Still, Jamie had been a good rookie, and was well on the way to becoming a good cop. Renzuli was proud of his own work in blacksmithing yet another blue garbed weapon in the war on crime. Jamie would no doubt have a long successful career on the force, assuming a five ton safe didn't drop on his head in the next three hours and fifty-six minutes. Anthony Renzuli had seen a lot of new cops come in and adjust to the rigors of the job. He tolerated them all, respected most of them, liked many of them, and was proud of a few like Jamie. They deserved some ice cream, and really neither of them wanted to bring up Renzuli's being left out of the takedown.

"End of probie year" Jamie sighed. "Don't wanna suck up Sarge, but thanks for everything. I feel like I learned a lot."

"You did, kid. And you're welcome. Glad I could turn you into something useful." Renzuli grinned.

Ice cream devoured and check paid, the two cops left the Doubleday Diner and found their car.

Sergeant Renzuli's vehicle was a 2007 Ford Crown Victoria, painted white with the "NYPD" livery on both driver and passenger front doors, and the patch of the department directly forward of it. At the rear doors the letters "CPR" slashed downward, each letter beginning the one of the words "Courtesy, Professionalism, Respect"

"I'll drive. Call us back in" Renzuli said, heading for the driver side door, as usual.

Pausing at the passenger side door, Jamie keyed the radio mike that rested on his shoulder. "Central, this is Twelve-King and Twelve-King-One, end of Ten-Sixty-Three. Show us back in."

"Copy, Twelve-King and Twelve-King-One back in service." came the dispatcher's voice from over the airwaves.

As the senior officer out on patrol in the Twelfth Precinct, Sergeant Anthony Renzuli's patrol code was Twelve-King. The cops under his command were identified by which sector of the Twelfth Precinct they were patrolling, such as Twelve-Adam for "A" sector, Twelve-Baker for "B" sector, and so forth. There was no "K" sector for Twelve King – as Watch Commander, every sector was "his" sector, and so he and his partner could be found anyplace in the Twelfth Precinct.

It was just past 7:30, and dusk was beginning to fall. The streetlights were on, and maybe half the cars moving down 30th Street had their headlights on. Renzuli started the car, and pulled onto Third Avenue, and made for the left hand lane, the best way to start his zig-zag patrol of the Twelfth. As they waited at the red light to make the left on to 31st Street he spoke up. "I always thought it should be a bigger deal, when boots pass probation, like you should get a new patch or decoration for your hat or something."

Jamie shook his head. "In my family sarge, passing probation wouldn't be a big deal. In fact if I couldn't cut it, I'd probably never be able to show my face there again," he chuckled, half-jokingly. He wouldn't be disowned, of course… but Danny would surely never let him live it down.

"I'm serious though. You pass probation, and it's the end of all that You-Can-Get-Fired-At-The-Drop-Of-A-Hat nonsense." Renzuli said. It was true. Once past probation, a rookie's job was his to loose. The officer would have to be caught doing something dreadfully inappropriate or illegal in order to get fired, such as accepting a bribe, severely and unnecessarily beating a suspect, or stealing from someone's home. Such was true of almost every cop except for first year rookies. During the probationary phase that Jamie was just leaving, he could have lost his job for simpler infractions like showing up late or discourtesy or other attitude problems that would result in a reprimand for a veteran, but completely end the career of a rookie.

"Three hours and fifty minutes to go. Your last chance to get rid of me, sarge." Jamie grinned.

Making the turn onto 31st street and traveling west, Renzuli grinned again. "It's been a year kid. If I wanted to be rid of you, you'd be gone by now."

They stopped at the red light on 31st and Lexington, and patiently waited for the light to turn green. From their vantage point, they could see the traffic signal monitoring the southbound traffic on Lexington Avenue. Renzuli was eager to make his left hand turn onto Lex and watched as the green light turned stale, and then went yellow.

At the same time, they could hear the revving of a car's engine coming from their right front, as a southbound car on Lex tried to beat the red light. Both cops head's turned to witness what sounded like trouble. More than a few traffic accidents and fatalities were caused by poor decisions a lot like the one this driver was making. Not only were they in danger of running a soon-to-be-red-light, it was likely they were speeding.

The car's engine had grown louder, but neither Jamie nor Renzuli could see the car yet. It was obviously in one of the right hand lanes of Lexington Ave, which meant that it was blocked from view by the nearer left hand lanes of traffic, a line of taxicabs that had already stopped for what was now a stale yellow light.

Just as the light turned red, the belligerent car cleared the sightline obstructions and sprang into view from the right hand, or far lane. Both Jamie and Renzuli immediately recognized the trademark livery on the sides and top of the car. It was a Buy More Nerd Herder, coated orange and white, with the Nerd Herd logo and the number "**5**" emblazoned on the doors, hood and roof. Probably going the speed limit, the Nerd Herder zoomed past the stilled cars, through the red light, and was safely across the intersection as Renzuli's and Jamie's light turned green.

"He's joking, right?" Renzuli asked incredulously.

"Computer emergency?" Jamie quipped. Already his left hand fingers were down on his side at the console between himself and his sergeant. One small switch activated the police car's siren, and a second switch turned on the emergency roof lights.

At the sound of the siren Jamie had activated, Renzuli gunned the engine. With a guttural snarl, the Crown Vic obediently sprang to life and launched into the intersection as Renzuli swung the wheel to turn south onto Lexington, and fall in behind the Nerd Herder. The police car hungrily devoured the few dozen yards between the two.

Immediately, the driver of the Nerd Herder saw the predicament, and pulled over as best as they could. Handily, there was a curb nearby that was unoccupied of parked cars, an oddity for New York. The driver pulled into what space there allowed. Unfortunately, there was only enough curbside space for the one car, the Nerd Herder. The NYPD car would not be able to fall in behind them.

It was no matter. Traffic stops in New York happened all the time, and under all sorts of conditions. The right hand lane of Lexington Avenue was simply going to be unavailable for a brief while. Renzuli put the police car in park, while Jamie killed the siren and activated the "left arrow" switch.

At that, a band of yellow lights illuminated under the police car's rooflight kit, streaming directionally towards the left hand lanes, and signaling to any traffic stuck behind the police car that the right hand lane would be impassible for a time, and that they should detour left.

Next Jamie turned on the "take down" lights. These were essentially floodlights. Floodlights were on all sides of the roof of the police car, and the ones pointed ahead were called "take downs". In the gathering dusk, they bathed the Nerd Herder in brilliant – perhaps even obnoxiously uncomfortable light. This created a tactical advantage for the officers trying to look at and into the stopped car - and put the occupants in the car at a disadvantage should they attempt to size up Jamie and Renzuli. When the two cops approached the car, they'd appear to the driver only as murky shadows in the middle of unnatural light.

From their vantage point, Jamie and Renzuli could just see the license plate of the Nerd Herder, and could see just enough of the driver to see that it was a brunette female, youngish looking, and fairly pretty.

Renzuli looked down at the small laptop computer that hovered on the arm between himself and Jamie. Calling up the DMV database, he said "Ok, Reagan. Read' em off to me."

"New York license plate Baker-Michael-Nancy-Henry Zero-Six- Zero-Two." Jamie grinned_. 'BMNH'-0602 Buy More Nerd Herd. Cute._

Renzuli fed the data into the computer, silently giving thanks to above for the progress of technology. Gone were the days where he'd have to call in a license plate number to Central Dispatch and patiently wait for the dispatcher to call back with such useful information as the answers to questions like _"has this car been stolen recently?"_ and "_has this car been involved in a crime recently_?" To be sure, without onboard computers, their comrades on motorcycles _still_ had to do just that.

Not that either Renzuli or Jamie seriously thought that either were the case. Buy More Nerd Herders typically had dull, uninteresting existences for cars. Neither cop had ever heard of such a vehicle getting stolen or being used to run someone over, or get shot at or shot from, or being used to smuggle a bomb or getting blown up or anything like that. Add onto that the fact 99 % of traffic stops were pretty much what they seemed. This was probably just a careless driver who ran a red.

But because of that 1% … you just never knew. Of all police officers that were attacked in the line of duty, fully one third of them were assaulted during traffic stops. While Renzuli typed the license plate into the computer, Jamie keyed the car's radio mike. "Twelve- King and Twelve-King-One on scene at a Ten-Sixty Seven, Three-Zero block of Lexington. Vehicle is a Buy More Nerd Herder, Number Five. New York License Plate Baker-Michael-Nancy-Henry-Zero-Six-Zero-Two." While any police car with an onboard computer system could access the vehicle's history, safety demanded that the officers radio in the car. Should tragedy strike, and Jamie and Renzuli be incapacitated, the Nerd Herder would immediately be a marked car, and a vehicle of intense interest to everyone in the NYPD.

"Okay, the car comes back as clean." Renzuli said. "You talk" he ordered, meaning that Jamie would be the one to initiate contact with the driver.

A friendly red light at the intersection they had just gone through broke up the traffic, enabling both policemen to get out of the car at the same time. In unison they donned their hats. Jamie stood where he was for a moment, keeping his gaze at the driver. Renzuli circled back behind the police car, and then behind the curb-parked car to its right. With Renzuli on the sidewalk and Jamie between the shoulder and the temporarily blockaded right hand lane, they both approached the Nerd Herder from either side.

Per procedure, Jamie stuck out his right hand, and firmly touched the trunk of the Nerd Herder. This accomplished two tasks. Firstly it verified that the trunk was indeed closed and secured. If any second person such as a gunman or some sort was waiting in ambush in the trunk, that person was now locked in it. Secondly it placed Jamie's handprint on the trunk. Should the traffic stop end very badly and violently, Jamie's handprint would verify that this car, Nerd Herder Five was most definitely the car that he and Renzuli had stopped.

Now Jamie drew his flashlight, and turned it on as he passed by the rear door, shining the beam down into the back seats. A second beam from Renzuli's flashlight joined his from the other side of the car, searching for anything that shouldn't be there- like open liquor bottles, bags of drugs, high powered assault weapons, escaped convicts in orange jumpsuits, severed human heads, and suchlike. Nothing there except seatbelts, and a bag from the local Wienerlicious.

Closing in on the driver side door, Jamie took note of the woman sending him an appraising glance in the rear view mirror. _This one's going to try to flirt _he could tell, _and forget 'fairly pretty', she's 'really pretty'_, as he positioned himself directly to the side of the Nerd Herder's center doorpost, and behind the driver. The positioning prevented the driver from swiftly drawing a weapon on him without having to spend precious half-seconds turning about in the driver's seat, and bringing such a weapon to bear.

"Good evening, ma'am." Jamie began politely. "I'm Officer Reagan. May I please see your driver's license, vehicle registration and proof of insurance?"

"Good evening officer." The brunette chirped sweetly. "I'm Nerd Herd Supervisor Hannah. Here they are" she said, slipping the documents his way with smile.

Jamie had to crack a smile at her pleasant demeanor, but he didn't let it last long. He examined the documents "Okay, Ms.… Gamble … Um, this is a California driver's license, ma'am."

"Oh, please don't call me 'ma'am', officer. It makes me feel so old and ugly. And yes, I do have an temporary New York." She fished back in her purse for the update card. Out of habit, Renzuli shined his flashlight down on her purse, which not only helped out Hannah, but made it possible for Jamie and Renzuli to monitor her hands.

"I see. Thank you." Jamie said, accepting the fourth document. "Miss Gamble, do you know why we pulled you over this evening?"

Hannah's sweet smile focused right on him, and her eyes shone. "If I get it right on the first try, do I not get the ticket?"

From off to his side Jamie heard Renzuli guffaw. Jamie kept his smile friendly. "I can't make any promises one way or the other" he said politely.

"Aww….. I was thinking it had something to do with the intersection back there" she said as she jerked her head behind her.

"Yes, miss, I'm afraid so. My partner and I saw you try to beat the red light. You came close, but you didn't make it. Now is there any particular reason why you're driving like that this evening?" Protocol demanded that an officer give the driver an opportunity to explain themselves, even though very few excuses really worked for running a red light in Manhattan traffic.

"Sorry officer. I've got a computer program install down by the courthouse. And my stupid GPS device told me to take the Queens Midtown Tunnel, and not the Manhattan or Brooklyn Bridge. And so I'm late, and I'm nowhere near where I need to be."

"I see. So… you charged the red light to save some time."

"Well obviously I didn't know you were there. I would have worn my red lipstick if I had." Hannah smiled again.

"Ok I'm going to be a second. Just wait here for me." Jamie said.

Renzuli and Jamie made their way back to their car, Renzuli once more crossing behind the two cars to get to his driver's side.

"It's a red light, Reagan. The attitude test's not enough." Renzuli said with a note of warning as he sat down, in case Jamie was thinking letting the pretty brunette off the hook with a warning.

"Oh I know it." He handed Renzuli the documents. "Why don't you run her while I write." Jamie said, going for his summons book. Renzuli took the documents, and placed Hannah's driver's license on top.

For some bizarre reason, some motorists would complain, scold, even verbally abuse the cops who pulled them over, and would _then_ have the unbelievable gall to ask for a warning once they had adjusted to their situation. In patrolman's jargon this was called "failing the attitude test", and logically enough did nothing to inspire a policeman to let the motorist off easy. Hannah had of course acted like a sweetie pie and passed the attitude test … but sadly for Hannah and her weekly paycheck, it wasn't going to be enough to save her the ticket.

Like all cops, Jamie and Renzuli had some measure of discretion in handing out summonses, and like all cops they had some unwritten standards about how to apply that discretion. Traffic offenses that were born out of carelessness Jamie and Renzuli could sometimes be lenient on provided the driver passed the attitude test. Traffic offenses that were born out of aggression were usually a different story. Nice lady that she apparently was, Hannah's conscious decision to throw caution to the wind and charge the light could have had disastrous consequences – consequences that he and Renzuli would have had to clean up later, possibly involving ambulances and body bags. It was ticket time for Hannah. True, it was the sort of offense that regular, normal, non-wicked people committed every day … but Renzuli and now Jamie were both pretty hard on red light runners. The first time Jamie had seen a dead child while on the job wasn't because of a vile kidnapper, or a loathsome drug dealer or some other Hollywood version of a horrible, easy-to-hate, no excuses bad guy. It was because a normal somebody had tried to run a red light.

It was kind of a shame, Jamie thought as he wrote. She'd flirted in the way he enjoyed being flirted with, sweet, funny and wittily, and not suggestive or sleazy. She didn't come onto him, and she didn't lose any buttons on her Nerd Herd blouse. But in Jamie and Renzuli's car there were no passes for run red lights.

"No warrants." Renzuli reassured after running Hannah's info through the system. Then he handed the docs to Jamie, who used them to write down Hannah's info onto the summons. "Dollar says she cusses you out."

"You're on." Jamie said, finishing up the summons. "Actually I'll raise you. She doesn't cuss, but another dollar says she gives the 'cute girl no ticket speech.'"

"Oh, no. I'm not making _that_ bet. She'll give that speech to you to you for sure. "

Summons written, the two cops got out of the car again, again approached the Nerd Herder and again took up their previous positions, with Jamie by Hannah, and Renzuli by the passenger side.

Hannah's face fell when she saw the summons. "Aw, officer, I thought you guys didn't give the cute girls tickets."

Jamie grinned. Renzuli had nailed it. Jamie's comeback was well rehearsed and pleasant. "Sorry miss, but that's just all Hollywood. We don't shoot guns out of people's hands, or draw chalk outlines around dead people either." Jamie then went into his equally well rehearsed spiel about the meaning of her summons and her legal options. Hannah wasn't happy, but didn't protest any further.

Finishing up, Jamie politely asked "So do you know where you're going now?"

"New York County Courthouse 80 Centre Street" Hannah groused.

"Oh that's not the Courthouse. That's the DA's office." Jamie provided helpfully. "They're right across the street from each other. Are you sure about the address?"

"I can call to verify once I get there. Can I go now?" Hannah asked.

"Sure. If I were you, I'd cut over to Park Avenue as soon as you can, and go south all the way to Broadway. Your GPS can guide you in from there. It might take a while to get there; we're pretty far up the island.

"Great. Thanks." Hannah said. It was clear that her annoyance was beginning to wear through her patience.

"Okay. Drive carefully now." Jamie politely admonished – but Hannah's driver's window was already rolling up. Jamie and Renzuli stepped back from the Nerd Herder as the chastised Hannah turned the car back on.

Back inside their marked unit, Renzuli beamed slightly. "Nailed it, didn't I?" he asked as he put the car into drive and proceeded south on Lexington.

"Oh yeah. She gave the speech."

"And you gave your Hollywood comeback." Renzuli said with a shake of his head. "You know now that you're almost done probation, and don't have to worry quite so much about pissing people off, you can joke back with the cute girls who give the 'cute girl, no ticket'" speech. "

"What's that?" Jamie wanted to know.

"They say 'I thought you didn't give cute girls tickets'. And then you say. 'I don't. Now here's your ticket, and driver's license and paperwork, and your options'. The looks on their faces are sometimes priceless."

Jamie laughed ever so slightly. "I don't know. Sounds a little mean."

Renzuli insisted. "But funny."

"But mean… and funny." Jamie finally allowed. "Besides, I don't want to think about things like that. Like I said sarge. I'm worried about jinxes."

C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C-C

**Los Angeles, California**

**Grand Ambassador Hotel &amp; Convention Center**

**Ballroom Two**

DJ Kevin "Tones" Toner was one of the few strangers who had met Sarah and Chuck now-Bartowski as a couple and _didn't_ scratch his head at the pairing of the obvious nerd and the beauty queen. He'd been a DJ for years and had made the party rock for gorgeous people, ugly people, fat people, thin people, old people, married too young people, gay people, May-Decembers, Trekkies, Dr. Who fanatics, Tolkien themed couples, Renaissance Fair themed couples, celebrities who paired with regular people, second, third, fourth and fifth marriages and pretty much any other unlikely pairing one could find in the City of Angels. It'd take a lot to stun him, and "Hot Babe Marrying Sci-Fi Nerd" wasn't even close to weird enough.

With all the professional pride of a surgeon preparing for appendectomy, Kevin clasped the microphone, and spooled up his playlist on his laptop. _Yep. Definite Sci fi nerd. But cool nonetheless_.

"LLllllllllllladies and gentleman, we welcome you to the Grand Ambassador Hotel and Convention Center, and to the Walker-Bartowski wedding!" here, he paused and waited for the applause, catcalls and whistles of approval from his crowd. After five seconds, he continued. "At this time I'd like to direct your attention to the main entrance of the hall, as we announce this evening's bridal court!" At this, Kevin tapped "Play" on the computer, and the reception hall was filled up with the John Williams / London Symphony Orchestra's recording of the _Star Wars Episode IV_ soundtrack, track titled _Throne Room_.

The heavy, bombastic brass echoed over the ballroom, and Kevin continued. "Our first member of the bridal court is our flower girl for this evening and the groom's niece, Miss Clara Woodcomb! Escorted …. And apparently carried … by her grandmother and the groom's mother Mary Bartowski!" Mary came in, carrying a well behaved Clara in her arms, waved to the guests when she reached center stage of the dance floor, and played with Clara's fist in simulated acknowledgment.

"Next up is Miss Zondra Rizzo, escorted by our best man – and officiate – Mr. Morgan Grimes!" Again, this was California, and having a best man who doubled as minister – or one who wasn't paired off with the maid of honor - wasn't weird enough to be so much as blip on Kevin's radar. Morgan was all smiles as he walked arm in arm with Zondra, and tossed a wave to the crowd. Zondra was clearly not happy with being the center of attention for the few seconds she promenaded out to the dance floor. She didn't wave, but she did have a big smile, one which Kevin suspected was fake.

"And next we have Miss Carina Miller, escorted by Colonel John Casey!" …. Carina, on the other hand apparently _loved_ being the center of attention, and waved the entire time she sashayed out. Pausing at the center of the stage, she dramatically kissed the cheek of the stoic colonel with an exaggerated smooch. The colonel stiffened, but maintained his smile which was about as fake as Zondra's had been.

Waiting behind Ellie and Devon, Sarah Bartowski crooked her arm, inviting Chuck to thread his arm through hers. With a smile that lit up the room, Chuck eagerly complied. Sarah was grinning herself. _Oh I'm so glad Chuck didn't let me charm him into eloping. This is going to be so much fun!_ Despite having recently awoken from her poisoning just a matter of several hours ago, Sarah felt a burst of joyous energy. It didn't matter that the entire reception hall was filled with Chuck's family and friends, while she had no family, and almost no friends to contribute. The fact was that almost everyone in the world who cared about her and Chuck was here, and here for them.

Chief among them were her amazing sister-in-law Ellie the woman who had essentially raised Chuck by herself. Sarah wondered if this was how all brides felt -indebted to the grooms mother, or in her case sister, for raising such a wonderful, respectful and caring man, one who's company she was about to enjoy forever. P_robably not _she felt. _Not many women are as lucky as me_.

"And now we have tonight's Maid of Honor Doctor Eleanor Fay Woodcomb, escorted by her husband Doctor Devon Woodcomb!" Ellie and Devon strutted out, Devon grinning ear to ear, and Ellie waving even more enthusiastically then Carina had. Chuck burst out laughing at her, as if he had heard a hilarious joke. Ellie had been wanting Chuck and Sarah to get married waaaaay back in the days when she was just his cover girlfriend, and they had never done anything more than passionately kiss a few times. She was enjoying this wedding almost as much as he and Sarah were. _Uh Oh, Sorority girl Ellie's in the house! Bad news for the bartender, good news for Devon tonight!_

_That_ was a most unusual thought for Chuck to have, as his brain typically set up all kinds of blockades, roadblocks, moats filled with flaming naphtha, minefields, and booby traps to even thinking about Ellie and Devon's sex life … but perhaps now that he was a husband for all of three and half hours with a wife of his own it gave him a deeper, philosophical appreciation for the fact that Ellie and Devon were the happiest couple he knew, and the reasons why included all the appropriate levels of affection and passion. In this limited context, it didn't freak him out at all.

Sarah's grip tightened affectionately on Chuck's arm. The _Star Wars_ soundtrack died down, and the reception hall stilled. Kevin the DJ's voice came over one last time through the silence_. "And now, it is my great honor to present …"_

Chuck's mind flashed back to that morning almost four years ago when the prettiest woman he'd ever met walked into the Buy More and asked him for help with her phone. Despite her inviting, warm smile, she had seemed intimidatingly, unreachably beautiful, so much so that he'd awkwardly dropped the phone when he first laid eyes on her. He hadn't put two and two together that her appearance coincided with his getting the most peculiar e-mail he'd ever gotten.

It had of course, not been a coincidence. She was a spy and quickly became a bodyguard to defend him against criminals, because of that Intersect e-mail. Sarah Walker had been out of his league, he had thought, in far more than just her looks. She had been a protégé success in her career – he had been a stalled mediocrity in his. She had been a seasoned world traveler – he had barely ever left California. Her lifestyle had been exotic, exciting and important; his had been dull, routine and inconsequential.

All who met Sarah Bartowski were-and would continue to be- stunned by her beauty, but all who spent any time with her could see that she was so much more then looks. Despite a spy's cold professionalism, she had a warm heart towards those who stirred her protective instincts, including pretty much everyone in the reception hall. She was easily the bravest woman he'd ever met, quick witted, and every inch as smart as he was – and on some topics far more knowledgeable. She was also the coolest customer he'd ever met, able to deal with everything that came her way, from the unwelcome leers of Lester Patel to the hails of gunfire that seemed to follow her around from time to time.

He had believed her to be so far out of his league that briefly after she settled into her role as bodyguard/ cover girlfriend, he had simply accepted that such a lady could never truly be in his life … until one night in a crisis at the LA docks, she had shown her cards, and aggressively kissed him, not for the first time reminding him that he had the bad habit of underestimating himself far too often.

Like any normal man in such proximity to such a beauty, he'd enjoyed too many fevered dreams about her to easily count. But shortly after that kiss, other kinds dreams had begun to accompany the torrid adolescent kind, and many of them had involved Sarah wearing a white dress similar to what she was wearing now, a reception hall quite like this, and a DJ announcing …

… _for the first time ever Mr. And Mrs. Charles Bartowski!"_

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**New York, New York**

**Manhattan Borough  
New York County District Attorney, 80 Centre Street**

Any person who had the misfortune of falling afoul of Erin Reagan-Boyle at this time would have been a sympathetic candidate for anyone else's pity. Fortunately for the world's populace, only a few security guards were patrolling the DA's office at 8:15 at night. All the other Assistant DAs had gone home, and Erin's paralegals were out too, leaving her alone with the guards in the halls. And Erin was on good terms with them, so they were safe.

Erin's wrath was generally pointed in a socially acceptable direction. She wasn't going to be the DA leading the case against the disgraced Blue Templar cops, of course – her brother had been one of the victims of their crimes- but she could expedite paperwork with the best of them, and she was now in the middle of drafting memos on sentencing recommendations for the surviving broken cops.

Like rats fleeing a sinking ship, the ex-Templars quickly abandoned any pretense of loyalty and camaraderie, and began turning each other in the hopes of getting some consideration during sentencing time. Most DAs were gloating at this, but Erin was furiously trying to set things up so that only the most minimal of concessions were granted to these men, even the ones that pled "guilty".

Right now she was in the midst of drafting an argument moving that all incarcerations be at Clinton State Facility. That was its official name anyway. Colloquially it was known for the town that it was located in, Dannemora. For a criminal convicted in New York, there were typically three maximum security prisons available for their sentencing – Sing Sing, Attica and Clinton/Dannemora.

It wasn't that life at any one prison was any more or less pleasant then the others, all three were equally putrid and intimidating, and any of the three were tantamount to extreme punishment. For Erin, the deciding factor was location. Sing Sing Prison, where most of locally convicted criminals were sent- was only 30 miles up the Hudson River from New York. Indeed, the phrase "send them up the river" generated from Sing Sing's location in relation to New York.

Attica was further away … almost all the way on the other end of the Empire State, in fact. It was only just east of Buffalo, and was a six hour drive.

Clinton/Dannemora was also six hours away by car – But unlike Attica, Dannemora was in the most remote and godforsaken corner of the State of New York. It was 320 miles north of New York City, tucked into that little noticed, little visited, and little cared for spot in the state that was right next to an equally easy-to-overlook spot of Vermont. The town of Dannemora was the biggest thing around, and the nearest city was Montreal, 70 miles away. Winters were brutally cold, and exhaustingly long, and it was going to be a tedious chore for any family members to make the trip up to visit them. Dannemora was known as New York's Siberia, and it came by its nickname the old-fashioned way … it earned it.

Erin wanted to see to it that every legal iota of pain, suffering and inconvenience that could possibly be brought to bear on these awful men was brought. In practical terms, New York had no death penalty. And the law tended to frown on the idea of her grabbing Jamie's Glock, Danny's Smith &amp; Wesson, or her father's Colt Fitz Special and gunning the men down herself. And so she was left with drafting motions with the goal in mind of seeing the men who had stolen her brother away from her and her family were punished as severely and as mercilessly as possible. As far as Erin was concerned, they were not simply to be incarcerated, but exiled. Sent as far away from family friends and civilized people as possible, and deposited as close as New York could achieve to the Ends of the Earth.

" … as was said at the execution of the Lincoln conspirators-themselves murderous traitors 'we wish to know their names no longer'". Erin highlighted the last sentence on her dissertation, and wondered if it were on the wrong side of "overdramatic". She decided to keep it, and see if it survived a review tomorrow, when she was less tired. She already knew that at these particular defendants, she was never going to be less angry.

Happily for their own sakes, the defendants were securely and safely in Riker's Island awaiting trial. That kept them safe from anyone named Reagan tonight. The only other victim for her fury was inanimate, her laptop computer - which had started acting up an hour ago and was now threatening to freeze up on her, not knowing that Erin was in an mood in which it was unsafe to displease her further.

Adding to Erin's ire was the fact that because of Mayor Russo's brilliant cost-cutting initiatives, IT support for City Services – including the DA's office- had been slashed. Few workers, fewer shifts. That meant a backlog of tech support calls, and late night emergencies like this one were outsourced to one of 3 or four private companies. TechnoTown was one, GizmoGarage was another, she thought there was a third she couldn't remember, and the Buy More Nerd Herd was the last one, and the most respectable one … … … in as much as non-city employee techno weenies could be considered 'respectable'. This one was already running late.

City employees or not, Erin hated having IT nerds in her office for any reason. The typically socially awkward males made usually clumsy small talk with her paralegals, two of whom she had to admit, were exceptionally attractive. But that meant the IT service wasn't getting done, and it also meant that her paralegals weren't doing their jobs.

Of course, it wasn't like her paralegals got a lot of work done when her brother Jamie came to visit, resplendent in his NYPD uniform. So perhaps justice insisted that she take the good with the bad in terms of productivity visits.

Her phone rang. Peter, the night shift security head was on the line. "Miss Reagan? Peter here. A Buy More Nerd Herder is here for a tech support call?"

_Finally_! "Yes, Peter that's for me. Let him up."

"Okay, I'll send her right up."

Erin woke up the word processer on her lap top, the better to demonstrate to the professional egghead that her word processer had been acting agonizingly slow.

About two minutes later, the Nerd Herder showed up, with a satchel slung across her shoulder. "Hi there! Nerd Herd. I'm Hannah. Trouble with your computer?"

Erin's icy, accusing stare had silenced many a vocal opponent, sent many a paralegal scurrying for a place to hide, and had warned her three brothers to take caution when they spoke. Now the formidable brown eyes were targeted on Hannah. She was supposed to have been here twenty minutes ago. "Yesssss." She said frostily. "Yes I am"

Coming out from under her satchel, Hannah tried to make peace. "I'm sorry. I should have been here a while ago. My GPS sent me to the wrong part of the island, and then this jerk of a cop was mean to me when I tried to make up some lost … _oh, my God it's your boyfriend_!" Hannah gaped involuntarily and incredulously.

Erin looked at her in confusion. Her chronic lack of a boyfriend was a situation that Linda and sometimes Nicky had been working hard to rectify, with no success. She wondered where Hannah could have gotten the notion… until she followed her gaze to the shelves behind her desk. On the top of that piece of furniture, was her favorite picture of herself and Jamie, right after his graduation ceremony at Madison Square Garden, just about a year ago.

"Oh," Erin laughed, grateful the excuse to challenge her mood. "Actually," she said, grabbing the picture "Officer Handsome here is my baby brother, not my boyfriend."

"Oh. Well blame him." Hannah grinned. "He's the reason why I'm late."

"What did you do?"

"Well …. I _may_ have come through the intersection a few teeny tiny seconds after the light turned red."

"Ahh!" Erin smiled broadly. "Yeah Tony and Jamie can be a little rough on people who run red lights."

"And I was as nice as could be too. He still gave me a ticket."

"Yeah. Sometimes flirting with the cop doesn't work. Trust me I know. The NYPD doesn't always like the way I drive either."

"Ok, good. So I'm not alone." Hannah grinned. "So. What seems to be the problem?" she asked, gesturing to the laptop computer behind the desk.

Erin surrendered her chair and started explaining as best as she could. "I was using the word processor, with just a few trips online to check out the state prison system, and all of a sudden it starts acting all slow on me."

"Was it really all of a sudden, like right before you called, or did it slowly build up over time?" Hannah asked.

Erin pursed her lips in thought. "You know, it could have built up over time and I've only just started noticing it."

"Okay." Hannah began. "Let's start with the easy stuff. When's the last time you de fragged the computer?"

Erin's mute and confused look told her pretty much everything she needed to know. With a patient grin she said, "Okay. That's probably what it is. This is a Roark Instruments Mark five, so it's a few years old. It's still a piece of cake to defrag."

Hannah rattled a few keys on the keyboard. "Oh yeah. You're maxed out and need to defrag. The good news is that it should be easy and my little visit tonight shouldn't cost you too much. Bad news is you need to let the computer rest for a little bit."

Erin sighed. "how long?"

"Most models take about two or three hours, but Roarks are really clever about how they defrag a hard drive. They can do it in about 30 – 45 minutes."

Hannah rattled some more keys. Erin's computer chirped to life, and a male voice came from the machine._ "__**Hello. It looks like you want to defrag. This might be a good time to go grab a sandwich**__."_

Both women chuckled at the human sounding computer. "I've never had one of these chat me up before." Erin smiled.

"Yeah, that's the late great Ted Roark's voice. Industry rumor was that he was a bit of an egomaniac. He put his voice into every machine." Hannah continued to execute commands.

_ "__**Okay. Defragging now. Should be done in thirty four minutes. Can you dig it?**__" _The Roark voice said.

"I got a nickel that says that solves your slowness problem. You just need to sort out the hard drive to find room on it."

"Thanks, I'm at a bit of a loss when it comes to fixing up computers. In the mood for some coffee?"

"Only if you have decaf." Hannah said. "I'm on call, which means I'm going home after this."

"Oh, it's one of those Kuerig things. It makes it cup by cup." An ironic glance back at Hannah. "Your mean cop actually treated me for my birthday."

A few minutes later, coffee was available for both brunettes. Since watching a computer defrag was as exciting as watching bread go stale, Hannah spoke up first. "Hey, I'm sorry I bad mouthed your brother. I wasn't happy that he gave me the ticket, but he was pretty nice considering."

Erin smiled. "Yeah, that's Jamie. Always a sweetie. In fact if you came in the middle of the day, you'd probably overhear my paralegals cooing about whether or not he'd show up to take me to lunch. Christy would be looking for an excuse to take along."

Hannah wrinkled her nose "Ugh. Natural born player?"

Erin shook her head. She'd not let anyone assume that about her brother, but she couldn't blame this girl for jumping to that conclusion. Most of the handsome police and firemen she knew had little trouble finding dates, often several. But since Sydney, Jamie hadn't met anyone serious enough to bring to the Sunday dinner table. "Oh, no. Not at all. In fact…" Erin reached behind her to grasp the framed photo that Hannah had noticed earlier. "…this time last year, he was engaged." Erin withdrew the photo from the frame of the picture, and unfolded it. Hannah could now see that the photo was now of Jamie with Erin on his left side, and another woman on his right. "That's Sydney. She couldn't really make the adjustment. Jamie was supposed to be a lawyer like Sydney, and then he sort of had a change of heart and joined the force. Sydney took it well… but not well enough."

Hannah clicked her tongue in sympathy. "Poor girl."

"Speaking of players," Erin decided to change the topic. "You're the first female Nerd Herder I've met. If I were you I'd be afraid to set foot behind that desk without pepper spray, considering some of the IT guys we have and the one's I've seen from Buy More."

Hannah nodded severely, but with a grin. "Oh there's some characters alright. But I'm their supervisor, so I keep them whipped into line. There's two here called Miguel and Steven, they remind me of two clowns I used to work with out in California named Jeff and Lester. They weren't players, but wannabe players. Thank God I got out of that place."

"Wow. The place was so bad you ran all the way across the country?" Erin asked, as she enjoyed her cup.

"Well no. I quit the Buy More in Burbank because I made the mistake of getting involved with worst kind of player there is. You know the type. They say all the right things, act all sweet and nice, and then the week after you take things to the next level, it's boom! 'I really can't handle anything serious right now'." Hannah grimaced. "I'm sorry. That was probably too much information."

"It's okay. This" Erin gestured around, "Is an ADA's office. These walls have heard everything under the sun, moon and stars." Erin grinned a little. She liked this Hannah woman, if for no other reason they could bond over working late into the night when most sane people were home watching TV. Erin was also perpetually shy on girlfriends. Linda was the biggest one, naturally, but with her, Erin's dating life was a sort of one-sided topic … since Linda couldn't reciprocate really, as her dating life was Danny. It was a little fun to gripe about men to someone else. She felt the need to correct Hannah. "That's not the worst type of player, hon. The worst type is the one you marry, _then_ he figures out he doesn't want anything serious. Guilty." She raised her hand. "Count your blessings."

Hannah nodded sympathetically. "Okay fair enough. Good point. Sorry you married a rat. I suppose I dodged a bullet." She sighed. "It was just a little frustrating. I mean you've got years of experience getting hit on you think you've developed a pretty good radar to figure out which ones were the nice guys and which ones were the rats, and then one does a whole 180 on you. It's not so much that you've been with a scumbag that's the problem, it's the fact that you _used_ to think you were an ok judge of people, and now you feel like a high school girl who got played. It sucked."

"Yeah I guess so... But move all-the-way-across-the country sucked?" Erin asked.

Hannah smiled. "No he wasn't that bad. He was "Leave-the-Nerd-Herd-And-The-Buy-More-So-That-I'd-Never-See-Him-Again-bad. I got an IT job out here working for Dunlap Cisco… "At this Erin grimaced, as she knew exactly what happened next. "… and they went belly up about two months later. I really can't catch a break in the job market." Hannah shook her head. "So I waved my credentials at the local Buy More, and now I'm here."

"Well welcome. But if you've left California and escaped to New York in the hopes of escaping sleazy men …"

"What, you mean New York's not a safe haven?" Hannah laughed.

Erin joined in heartily. "If it were, it'd not only halve my workload, but both of my brothers too. The other one's also a cop. About half of Jamie's calls are domestic disturbances, and usually he and Tony get there before things get really bad. The other brother's a homicide investigator. He gets there _after_ things get bad." She shook her head. "Like I said, there are those a lot worse off than us."

Hannah laughed once more. "Good to know. Anytime I'm down in the dumps, I can always compare myself to dead people. You're right. That _is_ some perspective!"

"_**Okay! We're defragged now! Have a great day!"**_ chirped the Roark voice.


	5. 2011 The Wedding (part 2)

_**A/N**__ Still more prologue to go- but it is time to start getting ready to meet some villains. _

_Of the two shows, neither one can really be described as 'gritty' – both of them are too optimistic at heart to qualify for that descriptor. But __Chuck__ is easily the more comic-bookish of the two of them, and that means that __Chuck__ has the more iconic villains- the more colorful rogues gallery, if you will. In __Blue Bloods__, the enemy is usually crime itself, rather than any one special villain. That's not to say that BB hasn't given us some scary nasties like Dick Reed, Phantom, and Benjamin Walker … it's just that in __Blue Bloods__, characters that loathsome usually don't survive their episode (examples: Dick Reed, Phantom, Benjamin Walker). The closest thing that Blue Bloods has to constant, overarching or recurring antagonist s aren't actual violent criminals, but rather people who hinder effective police work, such as Mayor Rizzo in Season 1, and Reverend Darnell Potter in Seasons 2-5. Thus if we see any familiar faces joining the bad guys, they're more likely to come from the __Chuck__ camp, and not the __Blue Bloods__ camp._

_Don't worry – Chuck Bartowski is soon going to be taking a more central role in the story, but in this segment we concentrate a little more on Carina._

_Chuck__ Fanfic writers love showing Sarah as the jealous type- cannon supports that as far as I'm concerned. Oddly enough, however- Carina is never shown to be on the receiving end of Sarah's jealous streak in canon, although Fanfic writers more than make up for that oversight. _

_Sydney was also shown to have at least a mild territorial streak in __Blue Bloods__, being none too happy with Jamie in the pilot when an exuberant-and attractive- Maria hugged him at their police academy graduation. It probably wasn't the hug that annoyed her as much as the fact that Jamie hadn't mentioned her existence._

* * *

**Prologue -The Wedding (Part 2)**

**May 2011**

**Los Angeles, California**

**Grand Ambassador Hotel &amp; Convention Center**

**Ballroom Two**

Carina and Zondra dutifully clapped- and it was pretty easy and painless, they both had to admit. After they had taken their places, the new bride and groom promenaded out to Vampire Weekend's "Holiday", the significance of which was lost on Carina and Zondra … and possibly everyone else in the room, but that didn't dampen anyone's enthusiasm. Chuck and Sarah came out all smiles.

The DJ waited for everyone to quiet down. Carina and Zondra looked around waiting to see what happened next. To Carina's side, Ellie looked over to her right, and shared a knowing, conspiratorial look with Alex McHugh, Casey's daughter and Morgan's girlfriend sitting over at Table 3.

Kevin the DJ spoke up again "And now it is time for our bride and groom to have their first dance together as husband and wife. This song is a last minute change of plans, one by special command of Sarah the bride!"

Chuck's mouth gaped, and he turned to look at Sarah. Sarah smiled widely with a _gotcha_! look at her husband, and a triumphant beam at both Ellie and Alex. Carina and Zondra shared a confused look. Sarah Wal… Bartowski had an awful lot of skills and talents, but musical familiarity was not one of them.

As the music began, Sarah drew her arms around Chuck's neck, bringing him into a loose embrace, as the "do-do-do-do-do"s of Celine Dion's "I Love You" began. Chuck began grinning from ear to ear, and Sarah was clearly … not singing, but had memorized the lyrics, and was mouthing them to her new husband as they slowly spun around the floor.

Zondra leaned in to Carina "Good God, I'm flashing back to my freshman year dance" as the cloying, sappy lyrics filled the ears of the two lethal spies.

Carina, torn between being happy for her oldest friend, and being appalled at being part of such a revoltingly twee spectacle, could only nod grimly. If anyone could have predicted four years ago that A) she'd be a bridesmaid at a wedding with B) Sarah Walker as the bride, and C) seeing Sarah sentimentally lean back in the arms of her groom and twiddle her fingers through that grooms hair and D) that groom being as big a techno nerd as Chuckie Bartowski – Carina would have immediately dismissed that person as mentally befuddled. Neither Carina or Zondra were particularly strong disciples of _Twooo Wuv_ … and neither had been Sarah Walker, for that matter. How had Sarah changed? Why had she changed? Had she always secretly been like this, and only needed the right stimulus to change? Had Sarah Walker the lethal honeytrap, the bane of hormonal male traitors, smugglers, and human traffickers always been a sentimental blushing bride wannabe at heart? The idea seemed to be nothing short of ridiculous to hear it described, yet here was all the concrete evidence Carina could possible want of it.

Sarah had gone from firm believer that true love didn't exist to its most ardent supporter. Weird. And yet …. And yet…. There _had_ been that night with the four of them, when Chuck had brought them all together… that last girls' night out before Amy's treachery had been revealed. Carina had led the pride of ex CATs in teasing the soon-to-be barefoot and pregnant bride with all the examples of single-girl fun that she'd be missing out on once she hitched up to nerdy, boring old Chuck… until Sarah, after her fourth tequila shot had had quite enough, and bit back hard. The tirade she launched was epic, and neither Carina nor Zondra would ever look the same way at Sarah …or Chuck again.

The song finished – mercifully-, and bride and groom stopped and kissed right there on the dance floor. The crowd erupted and cheered, Ellie going as far as to put her two pinkies in her mouth to let out a loud twilling whistle of encouragement.

Carina and Zondra smiled in mild satisfaction as the happy couple kissed. To their right, Carina noticed Ellie take a few steps out of line to share a high-five with Alex. When Ellie returned to her place she whispered to her "What just happened?"

Ellie filled in patiently. "When Chuck and Sarah finally got together, she took weeks and weeks and weeks to finally tell him that she loved him – like weeks after Chuck was already comfortable with it. Now, obviously, she's totally okay with it. Add onto that the fact that she's not hugely music savvy. So it was Chuck who was contributing mostly to the music list here. Sarah wanted to surprise Chuck with a schmaltzy, sappy, wear the heart on the sleeve song. So on one of Chuck and Morgan's _Halo_ nights we had a girls night in, and auditioned songs that had 'I Love You' in the lyrics. This one was the winner."

"Oh, God. Wow." As if the lyrics of the song weren't syrupy enough for her, _that_ little tale about what it was doing here was even worse – as if someone had driven a truck full of Disney DVDs through the Valentine's Day card aisle of the Halmark store, and crashed into the confectionary next door. "That's … sweet." Carina said dryly "Really sweet. Like … I'm-coming-down-with-diabetes sweet."

"I know! Isn't it great?" Ellie squealed.

Carina tried to keep a pained look off of her face. As she made the effort she could see past Ellie over to Table 3. Alex was taking her place there with Jeff, Lester, Big Mike and Bolonia – and staring right at Carina with an intimidating glower. Carina never felt more naked without her sidearm, and wasn't sure which was the more sound policy for the night- attempt to make the peace with her ex fling's new lady, or avoid her at all costs.

The bridal court was dismissed, and all took their places at the center table. Chuck and Sarah were in the center, with the Sarah's bridesmaids along her right, and Chuck's groomsmen along his left. This plopped Carina right in between Ellie and Zondra.

Toasts were made. Food was delivered. The bridal court didn't need to trek to the bar, as waiters were there for dinner service. Carina and Zondra observed the whole scene with some sense of discovery. It was odd – weddings were all about setting down roots – becoming stable and static. Carina had spent most of her life believing this to be a synonym for "boring." But she had to admit … it made for a nice party scene.

Chuck and Sarah had only half eaten their dinners before their hosting duties compelled them to make the tour of the reception hall. This was inconvenient because they were both pretty hungry. Still, as they came upon Ellie, Carina and Zondra, both Chuck and Sarah hugged and kissed them for their help in saving Sarah's life earlier.

"Thank you so much for being my bridesmaids" Sarah gushed to her two former partners.

"It's a rule that you have to dance with all the bridesmaids, right Chuckie?" Carina warbled flirtatiously.

"Yeah" Chuck said. "In fact …"

"Chuck and Sarah are going to be dancing with everyone! " Ellie chirped, already on her second glass of cabernet. "We're doing the dollar dance in about ten minutes. That means all the ladies line up for a minute or two to dance with Chuck, and all the guys line up for a chance to dance with Sarah."

Bride and groom shared a conspiratorial look – and ironic grimace. The dollar dance was a great tradition for financially strapped couples, as everyone contributed a dollar for the privilege of a few moments with the bride or groom. It was a sweet way to build up a tiny honeymoon slush fund, an extra hundred or so in cash so that the happy couple could have a bit more spending money on the honeymoon. Little did anyone know that Chuck and Sarah had just become multi-centa-millionaires about 2 hours ago. Both Chuck and Sarah decided that such game –changing news should not be announced at the wedding reception and that they'd save it for a post honey moon surprise.

"Carina, I know I'm not the first married woman to tell you this, but behave yourself with my husband" Sarah teased, only half … perhaps a quarter … or more likely a tenth … in jest. _No, actually I'm serious_. Sarah decided as she aimed a meaningful look at Carina's eye.

"Oh Sarah, honey of course I will. I worked so hard to get you crazy kids together, I'm not going to snatch him away on your first day."

Ellie's head snapped in Carina's direction, speechless, mouth agape. "Wait a minute … _you're_ taking credit for fixing them up?" Ellie challenged.

"Oh hells yeah!" Carina defended. "Why, doc? You think this was all your doing?"

Dumbfounded and annoyed, Ellie gaped. "Well, Yeah!…. I most certainly did my share! More than anyone else, I'd say! Right away Chuck didn't think Sarah was into him. I could tell right off the bat how she looked at him and I told him so! That was like … two or three weeks after they first met! Then last year, I told him to not give up on trying to win Sarah back! I am the head coach of Team Charah!"

Carina countered. "Very cute. But I spilled the beans on both of them. I told Chuckie here that Sarah was into him. I knew it even before she did, so I told him. And I tried to sleep with Chuckie, and I knew that story would get back to Sarah. Once it did, and once she learned how Chuck turned me down flat, not once, not twice, but three times, Sarah'd know that Chuck was not just any other guy, but one who was really into her."

Ellie's gape had turned from a look of annoyance to once of surprise mixed with no small amount of disgust. Sarah was smiling and blushing slightly, but not anywhere near as much as her new husband.

"Uhhh…. Carina, I never told Sarah that you tried to get me into bed. But I'm so happy we're sharing this today." Chuck said with subdued glum sarcasm.

Temporarily ignoring Ellie's dumbfounded stare, Carina simply looked at the couple and chuckled through her nose. Sarah was fighting a losing battle trying to conceal her laughter, and Zondra was already giggling.

Sarah finally lost it and burst out laughing. "Honey" she began, clasping Chuck's hands and pecking his lips. "I've always assumed that that's why she called you to her room that night you met. All you had to do was tell me that Carina put in a late night call, and it wasn't hard to figure out why. Did you really think I was in the dark about that all this time?"

"Seriously Chuck" Zondra challenged, "You really thought you were keeping that a secret from Sarah? You're so sweet."

"Yes! Yes he is!" Sarah agreed forcefully with Zondra, inserting a note of warning into her voice, lest the ex-CATS think that it'd be okay to tease Chuck any further on his optimism and relative innocence. She kissed Chuck once more.

Carina continued. "Then when these two were on the outs last year, I was the one who told Chuck that our girl here was still in love with him. You gotta admit that that's a big point in my favor, doc."

Ellie's look said that she was unconvinced. "I'm still kind of lost on _how you tried to sleep with Chuck_, and are trying to spin that into _helping_ Chuck and Sarah get together!"

"Makes sense when you're a spy, doc." Carina supplied.

Ellie looked at her new sister-in-law with certain incredulity. But Sarah nodded, agreeing with Carina. "Ellie, not many guys turn Carina down. Your brother turning her down really did mean something. I would have started falling for Chuck by then, if I hadn't been already. Speaking of falling…" Sarah bent over and put her arms around her two ex-teammate bridesmaids. "I want you girls to know that I was looking out for you for this wedding. Now Chuck doesn't have many single guy friends. The bad news is that Morgan and Devon are _totally_ off limits. The other single guys here are Casey, Jeff and Lester, Skip and Fernando. Jeff and Lester are over there. I don't think either of you want them. But Chuck and I made friends with the banquet coordinator and then I got her to get unprofessional with me. The bartender's name is Jason, and he is seriously cute and single. Carina, I'm betting he's your mark for the night."

Turning to Zondra, Sarah continued "Z, I know you're a little more like me and actually like to _talk_ to your guys first. One of the waiters is single … or at least he was a week or two ago. His name's Mike, and apparently he's a real charmer. Half the waitresses are crazy about him." Now Sarah's eyes scanned the double doors to the kitchen "That's him with the dirty blondish hair." With an affectionate tap on her oldest girlfriends' shoulders Sarah encouraged "go get 'em CATs!"

Dinner was eaten and Chuck and Sarah made their rounds. Sarah thought it was cute that Bolonia Grimes insisted on calling Chuck "Carlos", English being her second language. Chuck collected his congratulations from Big Mike, Skip, Fernando and other Buy Morons, including Jeff and Lester, who were actually reasonably well behaved.

The CATs owned the floor for the vast majority of the dancing, although Ellie did have to teach Zondra the Cha-Cha Slide. She was so swift a study that nobody seemed to notice.

Eventually, a slow song came on, and almost all the couples paired off for it. Zondra, against Sarah's recommendations actually allowed Lester a dance, leaving Carina in more a mood to drink and observe. She made her way to the bar.

True to Sarah's report, the bartender wore a nametag with the name "Jason" on it. Carina felt that Sarah had exaggerated his cuteness – but only slightly – and he did wear his dress shirt, tie and vest well. Carina noted with small satisfaction that he noticed her. Noticing that the bartender had no line of customers, she began "Hellllo …. Jason" making a big show of staring at his nametag "You look almost as bored and lonely as I feel."

As predicted, Jason's response was to turn on the charm. "I don't figure you for being lonely for long".

Carina responded with a chuckle through her nose. "Sweet. Something tells me I'm not the first woman to hear that from you."

With an ever so-confident glint in his eye, Jason smiled. "Of course you are. The first one tonight, at least."

Well entertained, Carina's smile now showed teeth, as she ordered a Beefeater martini up. She had to admit, there _was_ a harmless sort of shy charm to the Chuck Bartowskis of the world – the type who looked at the women in their lives with something akin to worship. Such men could be fun to have around, like happy, eager-to-please puppies you couldn't help but scratch behind the ears or give a tummy rub to … or in the case of these men, want to roll around in the sack as a reward for brightening a day.

But when things came down to it, the outgoing natural flirt like this Jason was more Carina's style and speed – one who wasn't afraid to be caught staring at a low neckline, make a sly joke, and one who had a certain comfort with the fact that he was mentally undressing her at the moment. The ease that such men presumably had with women wasn't a bother to her, in fact it was a blessing – there was less incentive or need to safeguard their male egos. Her lifestyle all but insisted that the men in her life satisfy themselves with hours with her, rarely days, and never months or years.

"Tell me something Jason" Carina said, making a small show of biting off the olive from her toothpick. "I don't visit LA all that often. Is it true what they say about every waiter and bartender having a script they're hoping to sell?"

A continued smile. "No. That's only true for the ones so uggo that they'll never be picked to be an actor or actress. We who are fairly good looking want to be discovered by a casting agent, not the Writer's Guild."

"Oh, gotcha." Carina laughed. Turning around and surveying the waiters and waitresses she asked "So, any soon-to be famous actors here?"

"Depends" Jason grinned.

"On?"

"On whether or not you count me."

"Ha!" Carina smiled back, enjoying the possibility of being out flirted. "Sounds like your girlfriend ought to hang onto you so she doesn't lose her place when your ship comes in."

With a faux pained expression Jason smiled. "That's what I told the last two girlfriends. Good to find someone who agrees."

"One more Beefeater martini." Carina brought up her purse to bring in two dollar bills to tip Jason. "One last question, Jason. Do you like to party?" The DEA agent prodded with her most loaded of questions.

Jason cocked his head and regarded her. "If you can mix it and drink it, I'm your guy. If you smoke it or shoot it, I'm not your guy."

"Good answer, Jason" Carina smiled with a spark of sincerity her other smiles lacked. From her purse she snagged a pen and wrote down seven digits on one of the dollar bills. Drawing his attention to where the number was she instructed. "Add four to the fourth number when you call. And you will. After you break this down tonight."

"You know it." Jason said with smile that just bordered on eagerness while still qualifying for playing it cool.

Martini glass in hand, Carina made her way back to the main table. Sarah was there, sharing a moment with Mary, the mother-in-law. Carina thought about taking the moment to share a few words with Chuck – but that plan was immediately put on hold when she saw that Chuck was chatting with Morgan and Alex – and Carina wasn't sure that she'd be a welcome addition to that little threesome. She continued on her original course, and plopped down on Sarah's left.

"Well, I'd say the bartender is only so-so cute. But you're right. He's a charmer." Carina reported.

"Mmmm." Sarah said knowingly. "Enjoy your gift."

"Looks like your other friend is well taken care of " Mary informed with a nod to the dance floor.

"_Zondra_ and _Lester_? That I didn't see coming." Sarah said in some wonderment. The two were acting bizarrely touchy-feely.

Carina grinned at Zondra's unorthodox choice for her man of the night, but then became slightly more serious. "I'm debating the wisdom of trying to make peace with Martin's girlfriend Whatshername!" she called over the music. "She wasn't in the mood to hear it last time I saw her."

Sarah snapped her head back and shook it decisively. "No. Not here. Not at the wedding. Next time you're in LA, maybe. You're still a sore spot with Alex. You might be able to get into her good graces eventually, but not here, and not now, and not without a lot of work…. And it's _MORGAN_ and _ALEX_! – Seriously, how are you still not getting his name right?"

Carina only answered with a shrug.

Warily intrigued, Mary asked "Am I missing a good story?"

With a discrete blush, Sarah said "Well, um… about a year and half ago, Morgan and Carina kind of got together. Then Carina left for a long time … and when she came back she sort of tried to pick back up where she and Morgan left off. But by then Alex was very much in the picture. Let's just say Alex and Carina did not hit it off."

Mary seemed neither fascinated nor disgusted by the small yarn, and simply arched an eyebrow at the redheaded spy. "_You_ and Morgan Grimes. That's quite a height differential."

As Sarah chuckled, Carina began "It actually wasn't as bad as it everyone makes it sound – he was actually pretty … …."

Mary held up a hand for silence. "Carina, I've been a spy for thirty years, and I started my career at the tail end of the sexual revolution. There's probably not a tale out of school you could tell me that would have my hair standing on end – but please, no details about Morgan Grimes. I used to make Rice Krispy treats for him and Chuck when they were seven."

"Rice Krispy treats" Carina mused, as if deep in thought. "Perhaps that explains the stamina. Lots of starch."

"Ugh!" Mary groaned. "On that note I'm going to find Ellie and get her to announce the dollar dance." With a disgusted … but not entirely unamused shake of her head, Mary rose and escaped the two ex-CATs.

Sarah stared at Carina with a slightly scandalized look. Carina only responded by popping her eyes, and saying "I hope Chuckie's getting a lot of starch" – which wrecked any semblance of self-control on Sarah's part. Sarah laughed through her nose once, broke down into giggles, and the two of them began to laugh uncontrollably. Despite the fact that Sarah was wearing her white wedding dress, despite the fact that she was determined to protect Alex from having to deal with Carina, despite the fact that she now had a mother-in-law, sister-in-law, and brother-in-law who may or may not take well to Carina's brand of ribald humor, despite all these facets of her new life of domestic bliss, there was still enough of her old life going on – Zondra tearing up the dance floor with a hapless male mark, copious liquor, loud music, and Sarah sharing a dirty joke with her oldest friend, that for a few seconds felt like old times when the team was together.

= = = = = = = = = = BB=BB=BB=BB=BB=BB=BB = = = = = = = = = =

**México, Distrito Federal**

**Mariott Hotel**

Sydney Davenport sighed as she rattled on her laptop computer – a Roark Mk 7 fittingly enough, considering- , knowing she had to concentrate on the task at hand, and yet constantly fighting the temptation to allow something – _anything_ \- to distract her from it. Her and Dave's current assignment was almost up, with only a meeting scheduled tomorrow afternoon with their client before they were on the next jet back to New York.

Not a day too soon. She and Dave had been down here for three weeks, and as far as she were concerned it was three weeks too many. She hated Mexico City. May was hot- damned hot- here, and way back a long time ago some conquistador or Aztec chief had very stupidly built Mexico City 80 miles away from the nearest beach. The Mariott had a pool, yes, but it wasn't the same.

Not that they had lots of time to relax anyway. The firm of Williams, Prescott, Hartman and McKee paid top dollar for her and Dave's talents, and they expected results for their investments. They got them. Presently, they were both in Dave's hotel room – suite actually- that had a small living area, the better for the two of them to work on their paperwork.

As junior associate for this assignment, Sydney had been playing second fiddle to Dave Silverman, the senior. Their task over the past three weeks had been to draft contracts between Roark Industries and the local labor force of Mexicans who were going to work at the new factory going up just outside of the city. Quite naturally, R.I. was interested in hiring as many people for as low a wage and as low a salary as possible… and the local labor pool was so enthralled at having Roark Instruments build here that they were much behooved to agree to most of Roark's terms. As labor contracts go, this one was completed with relative ease in a relatively short amount of time. Now, with the final documents about to spew from the printer connected to her laptop, they'd be ready for signing. Senior partner Seth Hartman had flown down from New York in his LearJet and would be there to sign the papers tomorrow with Roark executives, delegates from the province of Morelos, and of course leaders of the local labor force.

_One more step forward for the exploitation of workers… USA! USA! _Sydney sarcastically sighed to herself. Her high school self would have been so ashamed of her now. _That_ Sydney of twelve years ago wanted to be a civil rights or anti-sexual harassment lawyer, not a hit-girl for a corporate giant like Roark Industries looking to squeeze another dollar, peso, euro or yen from their assembly workers. But the _current_ Sydney wanted a job, and later wanted a career, and also had a car, an apartment in Brooklyn and a cat to feed.

Apparently her sigh was audible, and Dave noticed. "Look at the bright side" he said dryly. "Instead of sending American jobs to Singapore, we're only sending them to Mexico".

Dave Silverman was about five years older than Sydney, and most decidedly _not_ the stereotype of a successful, smooth talking, fast wheeling city lawyer. Rather Dave was pudgy, balding, bespectacled, and so good natured that it was somewhat amazing to find him involved in anything Sydney felt was unsavory, like this labor contract. But beneath that exterior was keen mind and a natural aptitude to quickly adapt to new people and whatever customs and attitudes they possessed. Sydney was convinced that Dave could be dropped anywhere in the world and would quickly be making friends with the locals at an Italian piazza, Irish pub, Japanese garden or Mexican café –whereas she always carried a bearing that screamed "New York City" in every time zone and on every continent. His skills at reading people and cultural adaptation had been key in this assignment.

Dave noticed that his dry quip had not brightened Sydney's mood and tried another tack, as he held up his phone. "Well this might cheer you up. When we get back to New York, Annalyn wants to have dinner- just the three of us on Wednesday night at Tavern on the Green." She's going to want to hear all about Mexico City, and since you're a girl she's going to want your take on things like how the shopping was and things like that."

At Dave's mentioning of his fiancé, Sydney huffed in amused frustration, and let out an incredulous laugh, and lightly pounded the table next to her laptop. "Dave! There's a harsh little truth you're going to have to get about Annalyn. _She. Doesn't. Like. Me._ She never has, and she's not going to anytime soon."

"You're wrong!" Dave protested "She's always asking about you, wants to know how things are going with Greg, and loves spending time with you"

"Yes, and it's called 'keeping someone close'. You've never heard of it?" Sydney countered. "You know for a movie buff, you could stand to watch _The Godfather_ a few more times."

"You're certifiable Quint! Certifiable!" Dave said, using his Rob Scheider voice.

Dave's comedy had its desired effect, and Sydney was finally grinning. "Dave. I know you're too nice to see it, but Annalyn has pretty strong jealous streak. And it's cute … even sweet …but it's pointed right at me. If she wants things with me and Greg to take off – which they won't by the way – it's because she likes the idea of me being paired off, and not single while I'm working with you."

"Well yeah … isn't that kind of nice of her?" Dave asked innocently.

"Dave, how many single female friends do you have? The kind that you see regularly?"

Dave did the mental math "Hmm. I'd say about four. Yeah, let's go with four."

"Have we all met Annalyn in one way or another?"

"Yeah, I think so." Dave said.

"Was it always Annalyn's idea to meet us?"

"Hmmmm…" David paused, as if a deep thought were suddenly dawning on him. "I think… yeah. But that's just her being friendly"

"Not so fast- I'm going somewhere with this … And for all four of us it was around the time you two got engaged?"

"Probably"

"Yeah, that's called sizing up the competition, Dave. Most of us do it. Annalyn doesn't really want to be friends with any of us. She just wants to see how we are around you."

"Oh hang on a second – that's not fair. Annalyn really is nice. How do you know she doesn't really want to be friends with you?."

Sydney smiled with a helpless certainty "It doesn't matter how nice she is. It's about the fact that you two just got engaged, and no engaged woman wants her guy spending any time –let alone _a lot_ of time- with any other single woman. No woman's so nice that deep down she's really okay with that – certainly not right after getting engaged." Clearing her throat, she decided to tease a little "_Especially_ not when the co-worker's as cute as I am."

"I think you're just paranoid. Cute but paranoid." Dave said.

"Dave, I went through it myself. If I get engaged again, I'll go through it again. Like I said, We all do it. When I got engaged two and a half years ago, I made sure to meet any single female friends that Jamie had …"

"This was the lawyer turned cop, right?" Dave interrupted.

"Mmmm-hmmm." Sydney affirmed. "And then once I met all of them, he then went to the police academy, and he got about ten more female friends. And yes, I wanted to know all about them too, especially if they were single. Doesn't mean I really wanted to be friends with them … although it worked out well for me if they _thought_ I wanted to be friends. That way if we all hung out together I could get a good look at how they acted around Jamie. If they were with someone, I was happy- I knew they weren't going to be after Jamie. If they were single, who knows? Let's just say I got to be pretty good at the phony smile." At this, Sydney noticed that Dave was staring at her in great discomfort, as if he were eavesdropping on a mastermind's evil plan.

"Okay, now I know you're just paranoid." Dave shook his head.

"Okay, fine. Fun experiment. Annalyn wants to have dinner, right? And she wants me there for … what to hear my opinions on Mexico City food and shopping?"

"Uh-huh."

"Okay, fine. Text her back. Tell her I'm really sorry that I can't make it, but that Greg wants to whisk me away to the Hamptons for a week when we get back." As Dave's fingers got busy she added "she's not going to be disappointed to hear that I won't be there to give her an update on Mexican cuisine – she's going to be happy that things might be back on with Greg."

"Huhhhhhnnn" Dave had a thoughtful look as he typed the note and hit "send".

"Now we wait." Sydney said.

Sure enough, Dave's phone chirped in short order. Dave picked it up and read.

"Wellllllll?" Sydney demanded with a searching look.

"Oh-Em-Ge, exclamation point, exclamation point, exclamation point, She's back with Greg question mark exclamation point."

Through a tight lipped smile, Sydney asked "Doesn't she want to hear about the shopping? Tell I can't wait to tell her about it."

Dave typed up the message. Soon enough the reply came back. "Maybe sometime over the summer."

"Mmm." Sydney said. "Dying to hear all about it I see."

"Wow." Dave said glumly. "I don't know if I should be annoyed with her or not."

"Don't be" she counseled. "Take it as a compliment. You're a great guy, she knows it, and she's acting like it. That means being a little possessive. Single women who are in your orbit are a possible threat to her, until they're not. It's not the most noble thing in the world, but it's for real."

"Guess you're right."

"Well", Sydney said, snapping shut her laptop, after saving the file. "Being right has fired up my appetite. Dinner?"

"Yeah. You doing takeout from El Compadre?" Dave asked.

"Yeah"

"I want something heavy. I'll do the pork rolls and biscuits from the Weinerlicious." Dave said.

"Actually" Syndey said "I'm in the mood for a walk. I'll pick up the Wienerlicious. You call El Compadre to get my chicken salad delivered."

A look of concern flashed over Dave's face. "It's getting dark. Take Jorge. And I get the _Die Zahl Fünf Mahlzeit_. The Number Five meal. Text me if there's a line – I'll get spooked if you're not back in twenty minutes."

"Right, dad." Sydney said, although her voice was glumly accepting not critical. Dave's concern was no overprotective instinct- it was standard operating procedure. Mexico City had a high crime rate compared to most American cities, averaging about 3 or 4 homicides every day. Bad enough to be sure, but for people in her and Dave's position, there was the added danger of being _nortamericanos_ from a successful law firm- with very successful clients - attractive potential targets for anyone interested in kidnappings for ransom.

Slinging her purse over her shoulder, Sydney made for the door to the room. On the other side of it, in the hall way were two chairs containing the two firm-hired bodyguards that watched over them 24/7. The only times Jorge and Martin or any of the other bodyguards let their charges out of their sight were when they were actually in the hotel rooms. Otherwise, Dave and Sydney had their own second shadows – second shadows that were armed with SigSaur P320s.

"In the mood for dinner, Jorge?" Sydney asked cheerily to her shadow.

Jorge arose and buttoned the first button on his suit jacket, and conspicuously twitched his shoulders to slightly adjust his hidden-but very clearly present- shoulder holster and gun. "Yes ma'am" he said in only slightly accented English. "Where to tonight?."

"Wienerlicious, just across the street. It's an okay night for a walk."

"Okay" Jorge said as he followed her to the elevator.

Jorge was friendly enough, and smiled often enough, but as soon as they cleared the main doors of the hotel lobby, he had on what Sydney called his 'game face'. His keen bodyguards instincts noted every vehicle, every face of every person that walked by them, and was no doubt calculating the easiest, fastest, and safest routes to the Wienerlicious across the way and back again. Sydney hated having to have a bodyguard everywhere she went, and it was one more reason to look forward to the end of this assignment.

Sydney and Jorge crossed the street to the Wienerlicious, and happily there were only three or four people in line, for the crew of three at the restaurant to look after.

The woman at the front counter who took their orders was tall, - taller than Sydney at least – and had her dark brown-almost black hair tied back in a ponytail. The lady was nice looking, but Sydney recognized the forced smile common among retail and fast food workers who were working on long hours of having to be polite to an endless parade of customers.

"_Guten Abend und herzlich willkommen auf der Wienerlicious"_ said the Hispanic looking woman through a forced smile. Sydney had to smile at the thimbleful of culture shock.

Trying to remember her conversational Spanish, Sydney began "_Sí , por favor . Voy a tener … un número de cinco …comida con una …"_ and trailed off, getting stuck on whatever the Spanish word for "Sprite" would be. Too late, it dawned on her that it was probably a cognate and said "Sprite?"

The woman – "Araceli" her nametag read- gave a genuine smile, amused at the fairly good attempt at Spanish. Nodding she said – in perfect English – "'Sprite' is the same in both English and Spanish"

Sydney blinked and smiled. "Araceli's" English was perfect, without even the slightest accent. She had known that a great many professionals in Mexico were fluent in both Spanish and English, but most of the ones who were that she had come across, like Jorge usually had kept a regional dialect and accent.

"Thanks a lot." Sydney said. "Well all I need is a number five meal with a Sprite, and then another Sprite for me." Turning to her bodyguard – "Anything for you, Jorge? My treat."

"None for me thanks. Martin will get jealous" Jorge responded.

"Okay," Araceli grinned as she tapped into her computer. "That should be up in about 2 minutes."

As she waited for the order Sydney asked "Any chance you're from the US? Your English is so good that seems like you learned it first."

Araceli's grin turned back to being forced. "I sort of did. Dad was American. Only spoke English. I used to spend a lot of time in the States."

"Oh wow. Does that mean you have dual citizenship?" Sydney's legal mind played with the logic puzzle. If her father was an American, than any offspring he had anywhere in the world was automatically a US citizen. But she wasn't too sure what the rules were for the Mexican side of things.

"Um, no. Not really. No dual citizenship for me." The order arrived in time to save Araceli from having to explain further. "Here's your order, _und __Vielen Dank für das Essen im Wienerlicious__!_" she said, as Sydney paid.

"Okay! Um, _Danke_ ! Bye!" Sydney scooped up the bag and left the Wienerlicious, with Jorge in tow.

Traversing the parking lot, Jorge popped one step ahead of Sydney, and waited for her at the curb of the street they'd have to cross to get back to the hotel. As he reached the curb, he turned 180 degrees and looked backwards in Sydney's direction.

Noticing this piqued Sydney's curiosity. "Jorge, what is it?" her face seeking a hint to the mask of mild concern on his face. She could see that Jorge was looking not quite at her, but over her right shoulder to something or someone in the parking lot behind her. He was concentrating on something, but did not seem to be frightened or overly concerned.

"More than likely nothing." Jorge said in a casual voice. "We're going back in now, yes?"

"Yeah. Dave and I are hungry." Sydney responded. "Why, what did you think you saw?"

As they crossed the street toward the hotel, Jorge assumed his position on Sydney's right, as if he'd protect her from an oncoming truck. "Like I said, it's likely nothing important. There was a car in the parking lot that hadn't moved at all in the time we were there. It was in the back besides the refuse bin when we arrived, and was in the same place when we left."

"Oh." Sydney said, suddenly concerned. "Were they looking at me? Or at us?"

"I don't know. I have no reason to think so. I just wanted to see if it was the same sports vehicle. It was."

They had now crossed the street and were making their way to the hotel's front door. Jorge casting a look over his shoulder, across the street and at the Wienerlicious parking lot as they arrived. Sydney regarded him.  
"Soooo…. I guess that he wasn't interested in us."

"Clearly no." Jorge agreed as they entered the Mariott and made their way into the lobby.

A bolt of concern struck Sydney. "Do you think they were looking for anyone at the Wienerlicious? Like a stalker or something?"

But Jorge was already relaxing. Smiling, even. "Don't know. Not possible to say. All I care about is that they're not interested in you."

But as Jorge was relaxing, Sydney was becoming more concerned as they reached the elevator. "But Jorge, what do we do? Should we call the police and report a suspicious vehicle?"

Jorge only shrugged "Can we even truly say that it's 'suspicious?' It could be the manager's wife waiting to drive him home. Could be the counter girl's boyfriend waiting to do the same."

"… and it _could_ be the counter girl's psycho ex boyfriend ready to beat her up!" Sydney said truly alarmed.

"Ma'am," Jorge said patiently. "All I saw was a vehicle that stayed in a parking lot for twelve minutes, for whichever reason. If we call the police for this, the police are likely to complain to my personnel company about misuse of the police contact number. There could be any number of reasons why that car was there for so long. Perhaps they're meeting someone. Perhaps driving someone home. Perhaps vehicle trouble and are waiting for a … _remolque_ … a tow car? My only interest is that they've no interest in you."

The elevator dinged, and they stepped off at their floor. Sydney rolled Jorge's suspicious – and lack of suspicions - around in her head. Of course the car could be doing anything there, and likely the only reason Jorge noticed it at all was because he was being hyper competent at his job at guarding her. She briefly toyed with the idea of calling the police on her own, but after rehearsing how such a conversation would go in her mind, eventually decided against it.

Her stomach soon informed her that she had more important duties to attend to, as her chicken salad had arrived, and Dave was eagerly awaiting her Wienerlicious haul. Leaving Jorge back at his post outside the door, Sydney headed in for dinner.

= = = = = = = = = = C=C=C=C=C=C=C = = = = = = = = = =

**México, Distrito Federal**

**Wienerlicious**

The rest of the Araceli's shift was routine and uneventful – the shifts at this job always were. Araceli loathed the work of course – she would have considered the work boring enough had she been a teenager. Armed as she was with both a bachelor's degree and a doctorate, she was overqualified for it by several orders of magnitude. She was quite stuck in a… "profession"… that was not her own, in a country not her own, in a life not her own, using a name not her own.

The Wienerlicious was open 24/7 – this area of Mexico City was busy at nearly all hours. As her shift ended at 9:00, her replacement entered, and Araceli left to make her trip home. She had no car, and had to rely on the cabs to get home to her about-as-cheap-as-they-come apartment complex. Her cab didn't even need to enter the Wienerlicious's parking lot to pick her up, it merely pulled along the shoulder, admitted her and pulled away.

She heaved a sigh and slumped in the rear seat of the cab, slinging her small backpack on the seat next to her, far too tired – and depressed- to notice the black Ford Explorer that had been lingering in the parking lot by the dumpster spring to life at her entry in the cab, or it following her, sliding into traffic two cars behind her taxi.

Life really sucked when you had to turn to the musical _Evita_ for comfort – and yet a line from it kept tumbling about in her head, over and over.

_ All exiles are distinguished. More important, they're not dead._

_ Well, distinguished, no. Not dead … so far so good _she thought. _Evita_ wasn't a show Araceli was particularly fond of anymore and indeed there probably never was a time she was fond of it for its merits … it did however have some sentimental value. Or at least it used to. Now it was simply a more potent-then-usual reminder of her old life, despite the fact that the line from it applied to her new life … at least the back half of it did.

She remembered Stanford University in spring 2001. She remembered encouraging her then boyfriend to try out for the spring musical, _Evita_. He was actually a fairly talented actor – but self-doubt, hand wringing, and second guessing were all part of his process, and at the time she delighted in being his cheerleader-in chief when he needed on, which was frequent.

_ You can get this- I know you can._

_ I dunno- there's only three really good parts for guys, - Che, Juan Peron, and Magaldi. And Juan's a baritone, which I don't think I am. I'm used to tenor roles._

_ Isn't that what auditions are for? To see what your range is? _

In the end, he had been right. Stanford's drama club had had more talented actors to fill the roles. He still got a part, but as chorus member, showing up several times on stage as a soldier, tailor, and one of Eva Peron's embalmers at the end. The tenor role of Perchik would remain the role he was most proud of, although she didn't let him forget that she enjoyed the soldier outfit.

She had enjoyed seeing her boyfriend at work … and at the time, it seemed to make up for the fact that it was a ridiculously stupid show.

She sighed again in the back of her cab. There had been so many times over the last two years when she would have given anything to be at the cast party of that ridiculous show, telling her boyfriend how proud of him she was … It had only been a few months later when things had started to go so terribly, unbelievably wrong. So many times she wanted that day back. Things had started to go wrong then – but it was only in the last two years when she realized how badly.

Now one group of people would wish to imprison her for the rest of her life, and another group would surely want her dead. Both groups would delight in giving her great discomfort to learn what she had known about the other. Both groups had always hated each other, and so far, the one thing that had kind of, sort of gone her way was that both groups had too many priorities- and too few resources- to make her capture or her torture or her death as much a priority as she herself made her survival. And the woman now known as Araceli Saucedo, was a survivor- stripped down to the single priority of making it to the next day, linked tightly to the skill of stealth…becoming and remaining innocuous and hiding in plain sight. Quite luckily for her, it was a skill she was good at. Unluckily for her, the skill need only fail her once to invite catastrophe – the sort of catastrophe that would arrive without warning.

The kind that was following three cars behind.

The cab pulled over to her apartment complex, and Araceli paid and tipped her driver and exited. She had no way of noticing that the Ford Explorer had also stopped thirty meters behind her for about five seconds, before pulling back into the street again. She only really noticed the Explorer when it passed her current location on the curb, stopped for a second time about twenty yards ahead of her, and let out a man from the passenger side seat.

The casual observation immediately raised her suspicion. It was almost 10:00 at night, and this man was wearing a black business suit – next to an apartment complex that didn't house many people who could afford nice clothes. Much worse, the man was looking at her, and keeping his gaze intently on her as he gained the sidewalk and began walking towards her.

Suspicion was very quickly becoming fear, and promised to soon become panic, as Araceli turned on her heel to head the opposite direction – only to find her path blocked by a second man. This one was so large that he seemed to take up the entire sidewalk. The second man stopped where he was, and smugly folded his arms, a six foot four, muscular roadblock. She whirled around to confront the first man, who now was a mere fifteen feet away.

"Araceli Saucedo." The man began, smirking at her, unbuttoning his suit coat, and ending any lingering hope she may have had of these two men not being interested in her. Fear devolved into shock and panic. So few people unknown to her had any business knowing her adopted name, and strangers using it could mean any one of a few things … pretty much all of them horrible.

Frightened, but remembering all her skills involved in maintaining a cover, Araceli brought her backpack around in the very unlikely event it'd be useful for swatting at this likely enemy. "_Sí, Ese es mi nombre_." (Yes, That is my name)

The man simply smiled again and said. "_No. No lo es_." (No. No it is not.)

A sickening wave of dread washed over her. Her breath came up short. Her knees began trembling. The vast majority of her nightmares for the last two years had all began something like this. Feebly she said "Who are you?" her terrified voice cracking in her trachea.

The man simply shrugged. "I? I am Hector. _I_ am not important. My employer, however … _he_ is a very important man. My employer knew your former employers well." Hector then withdrew a gun from under his coat. "My employer knows that you are actually Doctor Jill Roberts, PhD."

At the sound of the name from her old life, Jill Roberts' self-control began its final stages of collapse. The first tears began to leak from her eyes, and the end-of-life scenarios that she had envisioned for herself for the last twenty four months flashed through her head in all their gory inhumanity. The beatings, the tortures, the interrogations, the probing for knowledge as to what information she might have given the CIA, the being passed around to various henchmen as a sexual plaything– all these horrors would now be hers in very short order- culminating in some very grisly sort of death, and a shallow dust-filled grave to contain whatever would be left of her body. Her imagination skimped no detail, having had two years to allow the fear to fester in her mind. The terror was familiar, but now it was coupled with lack of any hope of escaping or dodging it.

"Please …." She whispered through a sob "Please no."

"No?" Hector challenged. "Doctor Roberts, 'No' is a word that my employer doesn't hear very often. And one he listens to even less often."

A curious thing then happened. Jill's panic hit a wall – a fixed point beyond which it was impossible for her to be any more scared. In spite of the hopelessness of her situation, she arched her back and became defiant. "Don't come any closer!" She demanded and held up her backpack in front of her as a useless shield. "You take one more step near me and I'll scream this block down!"

Hector stopped and leveled his pistol at her. "No." he said. "No you won't."

The very large second man had by now come up right behind her and firmly clamped his hand around Jill's mouth. Jill panicked and struggled for a little bit, but the man was easily two and half to three times her size. Without trouble, he pivoted Jill around so that her body faced Hector. The only sounds emanating from her were a few muffled squeals.

Hector pulled the trigger twice. Jill was quite sure that this'd be the end of her life, and was thus surprised to find the soft, feathery ends of two tranquilizer darts sticking out of her white Wienerlicious blouse. The second man released his hand from her mouth, and repositioned his hand to catch her as she lost consciousness.

Clearly whoever these people were wanted her alive.

For a Fulcrum trained agent like herself, it was just as clear that that was probably not a good thing.

Panic gave way to a relaxed sleep as the world outside her apartment complex shimmered, distorted, and faded to inky, silent blackness.

* * *

**A/N: **_Okay now, be honest. When did you figure out that it was Jill? Was it as soon as Sydney met her when she walked into the Wienerlicious? Was the mention of her doctorate the tip off? Or did I manage to keep the secret at least a little longer?_

_After the burning question of Sarah's memory loss, "What the hell happened to Jill?" is probably one of the biggest loose ends that the show neglected to tie up for us. Did the show writers really need to tie up Anna Wu in season 3 and NEVER revisit Jill?_


	6. 2011 The Wedding (part 3)

**Chapter 6**

**Los Angeles, California**

**Grand Ambassador Hotel &amp; Convention Center**

**Ballroom Two**

A very beautiful woman was in Chuck Bartowski's arms, and was grinning broadly at him, her brunette hair brushing against his tuxedo shirt. "You know Chuck; you're one of the really big reasons why Morgan and I kept together." Alex McHugh purred up at him.

Chuck and Sarah stood perhaps ten feet away from each other in the center of the dance floor. Ellie was between them with a velvet sack held open. He task was to demand a dollar from every guy who wanted to dance with Sarah, and every woman who wanted to with Chuck. Her secondary task was to time the dances, so that no partner monopolized the bride or groom for unreasonably long, but Ellie wasn't really being a stickler over that now. Her newlywed brother was, if nothing else a chatterbox.

"Really?" Chuck asked Alex, quite taken aback at the complement. "How so? Morgan's a great guy- with or without me. Although you're probably right in that he's a lot better with me in the picture"

Alex caught his eyes and flicked a curl from his ear. "Well you know that things weren't always great with Morgan and I. But I always end up telling myself that any guy who has a best friend like you – one who really knows how to make Sarah happy, is probably a real catch. You make Sarah glow so much that I don't think Morgan can help learning from your example."

"Aww, Alex thanks" Chuck added with a hug. "Morgan's a real lucky guy. And I know Sarah's a big fan of you too."

"Really?" Alex asked. "I never got the idea that she thought much about me."

"Oh, not true." Chuck said. "I mean it's true that Sarah is slow to make new friends, but you're definitely on the fast list. She loves the idea of making normal friends. Even more so now that we're out of the spy game. The only non-spy girlfriends she has are Ellie, and you. Now she has a good time with Zondra and Carina, yeah but …"

"Chuck?" Alex said, catching his eye, and stiffening his arms around his shoulders.

"Mmm?"

"We're having a nice dance, and to be honest I don't get this that often with a tall guy. Can we not mention Carina?"

"Sure." Chuck said, and finished the dance with his best friend's girlfriend.

Zondra was the next in Chuck's line, dropping a dollar into Ellie's bag. She had clearly been taking advantage of the open bar. Risking Sarah's wrath, she plopped a strong kiss on Chuck's cheek- hard enough that her lipstick kissed off. "You are just the best. It's thanks to you that I have Sarah back as a friend. You're awesome."

"Aw, Zondra thanks … I know Sarah was glad…"

"Shhh shhh sshhh shhh!" Zondra said – clearly three sheets to the wind and at the point where she was slurring her words. "I have something important to ask you - I want you to tell me _everything_ there is to know about your friend Lester."

"Lester? Lester Patel? _That_ Lester? Really?" Chuck asked in surprise.

"_Yes_ really! That guy knows more about 80s music then anybody I've met. He is _so_ easy to talk to!"

Zondra's enthusiasm told Chuck quite clearly that, despite everything, she wasn't joking at all. "Um, yeah. That's true. He's pretty musically talented. And he's big on 80s bands. Real big on Toto and Ah-ha, Duran Duran…"

"He told me he was in a band, but I kind of think he was just trying to get me into bed." Zondra said a little darkly.

"Well he might have been trying, but he wasn't making that part up - he actually _is_ in a band."

Zondra's jaw dropped and her eyes grew wide "Y'mean _Jeffster!_ is for real !? _No_ _way_!"

Chuck was dumbfounded – he'd seen Zondra in action only a few times as an effective and lethal spy, but was still amazed at how impressive this integral-and often annoying – tidbit about Lester Patel was to Zondra. This super talented, super deadly assassin was blown away by the news that Lester was in a band .. as if she were a five year old girl who just learned some cool fact such as submarines go underwater or that chameleons change color. Zondra hugged Chuck once more and said "_Wow_! Thanks for the intel, Chuck.!" After resting her head on Chuck's shoulder for just an appropriate amount of time, she ended the dance, and stalked over to the bar, where Lester and Jeff were congregating, the two of them no doubt enthralled that the liquor selection here was a step above the well drink fare they were used too at Bennigan's. Chuck watched her depart, wondering if prayers of encouragement or sympathy for Lester were in order.

Chuck's gaze was intercepted by a pair of blue eyes, perhaps the second most attractive pair in the room, as Carina was the next one in Chuck's line. The redhead was armed with a moist napkin that she dabbed on Chuck's cheek, removing the lipstick that Zondra had left there.

As she wrapped her free arm around Chuck's shoulders she smoothly advised, "First rule of messing around on your wife, Chuckie is hide the evidence." A toothy grin informed that it was all in good fun for her. Carina was rewarded with a blush that she could detect, even in the dimmed lights. "Nice wedding" she complimented as they danced. "Never been to one before for real".

"Fun party, isn't it?" Chuck teased.

"Never thought I'd be in one. Never thought I'd have a friend who wanted to get hitched."

"Yeah, well. Surprise".

"You got the best operative I've ever worked with to break the number one rule. Spies don't fall in love, Chuck." Carina's tone said she was making what for her was a simple observation. There was no pity or admiration or contempt or mockery in her voice … if anything at all, perhaps a slight hint of confusion.

"Y'know it's a little funny to hear you say that, Carina … you've always struck me as an 'only-follow-the-rules-I-feel-like-following' kind of lady."

"Good read" Carina allowed. "Doesn't mean I don't agree with Rule Number One. People who break it end up getting hurt. Or arrested. Or dead."

"Oh. And what happens to people who follow it? Hmm?" Chuck asked with a mischievous glint in his eye. "They live long, happy lives?"

"A little longer. Maybe." Carina said.

"Sorry Carina. Not buying it. Haven't bought it for a year or more. The heart's where it's at for most of us. Even for you." Off of Carina's doubtful look, "Or are you going to tell me that you and Zondra deciding to break about thirty different laws to help us confront Decker last night was a totally cool, calculated, emotion-less thing to do for someone else."

"Z and I did what we did for our friend. I can count on my two favorite fingers the number of people I'd do that for."

"Mmmmm." Chuck acknowledged, not daunted. "So you don't let a lot of people get close to you. Fine. Doesn't mean that there's not someone really special in there for anyone who makes it long enough to get close."

Carina had to admit – Chuck's boundless optimism about both the world and the people who lived in it was very sweet to listen to in a pleasant, rare sort of way – the same way a vacation day was pleasant to enjoy, but would always have to soon give way to the return of the daily grind. Chuck's optimism seemed to exist as if it were always on vacation from reality. Carina wouldn't say it out loud in a million years, but if Chuck's sweet sounding cheeriness was as genuine as it seemed to be, then the reasons why Sarah fell ass-over-teakettle for him began making a certain sort of sense.

Still, Carina had little in the way of such optimism, and if there was a lesson that the world seemed to take pains to teach her, it was that the world was cruel, brutal place where such buoyancy in spirit must be torpedoed and sunk with heavy loss of life. She wasn't interested in hurting Chuck's feelings, and yet she couldn't resist the urge to smudge his rose colored glasses.

"See the bartender back there, Chuck? Tonight while you're bedding down with the love of your life, I'll be turning him inside out. When he walks to his car tomorrow morning he's going be walking like one of those newborn zebras on the Discovery Channel."

Far from being shocked though, Chuck simply smiled and said "good for him."

"And if he doesn't rate four out for five stars or better, I'll toss him like garbage tomorrow and never call him back. Plus the fact that I'll be back in DC in a few days anyway. What do you think about that?"

A nonplussed shrug from Chuck "sounds like there's still fun to be found tonight."

A sly wink from Carina "oh so now you get jealous, hmm?" Took you long enough"

"Very cute. You know I'm not naïve enough to think that every guy you meet is seriously going to get to you. But one might. And if he does … well Sarah enjoyed being a bridesmaid so much at my sister's wedding that she'd probably love to be at yours one day."

Carina tried to study his face in the dark, suddenly unsure if he was teasing or serious. Not many people had the effect of rendering Carina Miller speechless, and to be sure, she only had moderate hopes of Jason rendering her that way tonight. Yet Chuck once more had thrown her a curve ball like he had when they had first met.

The dollar dance ended, and Chuck's final partner was Clara, who was deposited in Chuck's arms by Devon, while Ellie signaled the videographer and photographer.

Carina made her way back to the bridal table. Mary was the only one there, having long since danced with her son. Carina reclaimed her perch at her seat and looked back at the dance floor. Once more Chuck and Sarah were in each other's arms and staring into each other's eyes. They looked like they belonged on particularly sappy Valentine's Day card. Suddenly a bolt of realization hit her – a connection between what Chuck had just said to her and what she was watching now. Suddenly a lot about Chuck Bartowksi- and most importantly Chuck and Sarah started to make a new and peculiar sort of sense to her.

Chuck's sweetness and relative innocence were so easy to see as weaknesses – indeed in many a situation in the spy world they undoubtedly were. How Sarah Walker had managed to be his handler for years without putting him through a wall was probably always going to be a mystery to Carina.

And yet that same annoying childlike optimism gave him a perspective that it seemed so few people in her world had. He always saw people in the most flattering of lights, long after, perhaps, such people had stopped seeing themselves that way. Just like Carina, Zondra and Sarah had, but the age of 25- and well before Sarah had met Chuck- had already seen and done things that few others had, some of those things tragic, horrifying and traumatizing. They'd be the sort of things that could convince someone that a normal life was simply not in the cards for them. Zondra and especially Carina had accepted this fact about themselves long ago. Carina had always thought that Sarah had too … but evidently being assigned to watch over Chuck Bartowski had turned her native. There she was beaming at her new husband, cooing over her new niece by marriage, while her new sister in law and … _wait a minute – Ellie's her sister in law … does that make Devon her brother in law? Or is he only Chuck's brother in law? How does that work anyway? _

The vocabulary wordplay was just one more aspect of this domestic bliss stuff that Carina didn't understand completely.

"You look deep in thought" Mary commented, taking the seat next to her.

"Maybe a little," Carina admitted. "Sarah looks really happy."

"Let me guess. You never imagined her in a white dress. Didn't seem the type."

"Gotta admit it- no. Six or seven years ago the four of us, me Sarah, Zondra and Amy loved making fun of anyone who'd sign up for all this. … little house in the suburbs, 9-5 jobs, maybe a white picket fence, a few years down the road little league games and ballet recitals … hell, Z and I still get tripped up over the "same man every night part."

Mary chuckled audibly.

"Oh, I'm sorry- that was probably a kind of rude thing to say." Carina said.

"Oh, no. No. I sympathize. It's an odd thing to watch happen to someone. It's even odder to go through it yourself when you're sure you never will. Been there. A lot like Sarah, actually."

"I gotta admit I was surprised to learn that Chuckie had a CIA momma."

"If you would have told me 35 years ago that I'd be a mom, I'd have been surprised as well. I wasn't so much the hunter/killer you CATs were, but I was a firm believer that CIA and family life didn't mix."

Carina turned to her and asked "What happened?"

Mary shut her eyes and smiled. "A routine assignment. It was the late 70s and desktop computers were about to hit. Apple was the big news and Roark Industries was right behind it. The CIA contacted with one of Ted Roark's business partners to keep them appraised on things like emerging data processing technology. Specifically, they wanted an idea on the sort of power that the Russians and any old terrorist could have if he bought himself a desktop. The agency quickly found out that this engineer was a genuine genius – the real brains behind Roark Industries. SO they used him to stay abreast o not just the current technology – but pretty much every brain in the field – all the ones at least that he had contact with. Other agents did the bios on them, and it ended up being a treasure trove of new assets – and not a few leaks as well." Off of Carina's searching look "and yes, the engineers name was Stephen Bartowski. The Agency sent me in to be his primary contact –slash-handler. Getting the agency close to him got the Agency close to the entire tech field."

"Wow. So you were there to honey trap Chuck's dad the same way Sarah was sent to honey trap Chuck?"

Mary furrowed her brow, and shook her head. "I never took any of the advanced infiltration and Inducement courses. - I was never a real seductress per se. We didn't need one in this case. Stephen was never at any point considered an enemy or a suspect; -he was an asset- so we didn't need a subterfuge. What I was was a good handler- one Stephen would respond to and one who could get him to deliver."

Carina smiled and nodded. "You don't need to draw me any pictures … Unless of course you want to. I've said "yes" to a nerd or two."

"No, it wasn't like that…And that's sort of my point. I tried to act extremely professional. So much so that at first I thought he was a waste of my talents. All I was doing was hanging out with him and getting names on the people that he met and spoke too. For the first few months Stephen and I were just asset and handler. And we simply do things like have dinner and go to conventions together. He'd introduce me to industry big and medium shots. I realized right away that he was different from most guys that I had met. He was a dreamer. He thought of using technology – and his knack for it – to honestly make the world a better place. He saw computers being used in hospitals, ambulances, police cars – he saw both the internet and smart phones coming a mile away."

"Okay, so he had some heavy firepower between the ears" Carina said unconvinced. "That's what made you want to marry him?"

"It wasn't just that. He also treated me like I've never been treated before. I told him that we just had a professional relationship, but he still insisted on paying for my lunches, holding doors open for me … and _talking_ to me like a real person – not like some government paid assistant. He wanted to know what I did with my day and how my life would change if I had this gizmo or that. Long before I know what was happening I was crazy about him. I decided I never wanted my time with him to end."

"Why was it going to?"

"The Agency actually fell for him around the same time I did and offered him all the funding he could ask for if he came to work for them as a tech expert. 'Expert of experts' they called it."

"Okay … where does your white dress come in?"

"With him being an employee, he didn't need a handler anymore. I was going to be reassigned. And suddenly there I was having been close to something that I now wanted more than anything, and was about to lose."

"Sooo you ….." Carina prodded.

Mary savored a soft private smile. "Sorry dear, even Chuck Ellie and Sarah don't get the details of that part of the story. We'll just leave it at how I may never have actually gone to seduction school, but I could get a few results that I wanted on an amateur basis."

"Mmmm" Carina nodded. "I've never had anything like that. I can never wait for my long term assignments to end. Of course I'm always dealing with druggies and other scumbags."

"If you had to babysit a decent guy for an extended period of time … well I can't say for sure that you'd _fall_ for him … but it'd be a big change of pace from what you're used to. Perhaps a little more boring …"

Carina smiled and couldn't help interrupting "well I always assumed that life with a guy like Chuckie would be dull, But Sarah ripped me a new one on that when we girls took her out right after they got engaged. Trust me – even I know better than to repeat what she said to the momma of the groom."

"Wise choice" Mary laughed. "But as I was saying - it'd be a change you're not ready for." She nodded to the married couple. Chuck and Sarah were again spinning around the dance floor, both giving enamored looks at each other.

"Take a look at them." Mary said." It must look to you that in Sarah we're seeing a tigress sign up for a life at a petting zoo, or a magnificent warship being mothballed to become a tourist attraction."

Carina wanted to seem slower to agree than she actually was and guardedly said "Yeah … the thought crossed my mind. Quite a few times."

"How do you think Sarah felt when it dawned on her that she was sent in to induce, protect and handle someone who was sooo …" Mary struggled for a word to describe her son.

_Unremarkable_ had been the word on Carina's mind, but she doubted that Chuck's mother would appreciate her using that word to describe him, so she went with the second thought to enter her mind "… innocent and wholesome?" said she. Quickly she thought it dawned on her what Mary was getting at.

Like herself- like most female spies, the Sarah Walker Carina had known had prided herself on being as hard and as cold as an ice sculpture towards the feelings of both enemies and even allies- especially ones she was supposed to use and exploit. But Chuckie was different than most assets and agents – all that childlike optimisim that even she, Carina Miller couldn't help smiling at. Indeed, Carina wasn't immune to those puppy dog eyes by a long shot. Just a day or so after meeting him, he had convinced her to put her own ambition on hold to rescue Sarah from Peyman Alahi's captivity. It was an unusually selfless move for Carina – mostly because Chuck's wholesome, pleading gaze melted her down … after a mere day's exposure to it.

_Poor Sarah_. Carina thought to herself. She was an ice sculpture of a spy no longer – and probably would never be again. Sending Sarah Walker to infiltrate and handle someone like Chuck had been like ordering the ice sculpture to go infiltrate a pizza oven – only for some reason the easily predictable result was not predicted by anyone. _Now there's some crackerjack government planning for you_.

"Guess it all took her by surprise" Carina mused.

"I'm no expert on love …" Mary affirmed "but from what I've heard and experienced … it usually does."

= = = = = = = = = = BB=BB=BB=BB=BB=BB=BB = = = = = = = = = =

**New York City**

**Chinatown**

_**C.R. – Drink at Bamboo Dynasty? It's important. Won't be long. **_

Erin had just finished up the night's work and had just been about to snag a cab to take her up the island to her apartment when she got her boss's text. Although Manhattan Executive ADA Charles Rossellini had tried to work his charm on her in the past, she got the feeling that this invite was business, not pleasure. She paid and tipped her cab driver and entered the Chinese restaurant.

She didn't even need the hostess to seat her – Rossellini was seated at one of the two person high table near the bar. He rose as she approached. Dressed in an immaculate grey suit, Charles Rossellini was always a handsome fellow who had little hesitation about flashing his rakish ladykiller smile. But tonight his grin was awkward and slightly embarrassed, as if he was sitting on bad- or at least unwelcome- news.

As Erin arrived, she could see that Charles had already been nursing a red wine, and had apparently taken the liberty of ordering her a white wine.

"How did you know I was in the mood for a chardonnay?" Erin asked guardedly.

"I didn't really. I just wanted you to be drinking something that wouldn't stain as badly in case I made you mad and you decided to throw it in my face."

The attempt at humor struck home and Erin rewarded him with a genuine smile. "Charlie, I'm a water thrower. My dad taught me never to waste good alcohol on a man so low that he deserves something thrown in his face."

Charlie Rossellini smiled a little, and the realization for the impromptu date dawned on her. For the last week and a half, Rossellini had breathed, eaten and slept the Blue Templar case, and had been fielding requests from the hopeless lawyers requesting considerations for the doomed clients in exchange for this information or that. Unfortunately for them, the crimes of the Templars were so heinous that there was several reasons not to take any such reuests seriously. A fellow policeman had been murdered. Another policeman who was cooperating with investigators had also likely been murdered. There were attempted murder charges for the attack on Jamie –who had his car sabotaged, and Jackie- who had been run off the road. Witnesses had been killed, and drug dealers had been murdered in cold blood. All these done by cops who had forsaken their oaths. The case against them was airtight, with no weaknesses that needed a turncoat witness to shore up. There would be no backing down from the punishment for these crimes, certainly not for the purposes of nabbing a few small time drug dealers or brothel owners.  
At least there shouldn't be.

"So…"Charlie began cautiously "I spent my day off down at Riker's …"

"Charles, out with it. I promise not to throw this at you" Erin proved her point by taking a generous gulp of chardonnay .

"I was up there talking to Alex Bello. Not surprisingly he wants to talk deal."

Erin glowered at him over the rim and through the translucent foot of her wine glass. Former NYPD Lieutenant Alex Bello was the member of the former Blue Templar with the highest rank on the NYPD. After the late Sonny Malevski, Erin deemed him the most culpable in all the wicked that the Templar had done, including Joe's murder. Why was Rossellini speaking to Bello, of all people?

Having drained half her glass, Erin patiently demanded "Annnnnd?"

"Well you'd be proud of me. I started the meeting by saying that if all he has to give are a few rinky dinky drug pushers, then I'd be already on my way out."

"Okay." Erin nodded in approval.

"Lydia Gonsalvas." Rossellini said. "Do you know the name?"

Erin drew a blank for a second before it dawned on her. "Yeah. NYPD. Joe knew her. They were on the Warrant Squad together."

"Exactly. After they killed Joe, Lydia put in her papers. She always suspected the worst, but didn't have enough to go to IA. Which was a good thing, because Bello was in IA."

Erin nodded for him to continue.

"A few months after Jamie graduated, he started looking into Joe's murder. He reached out to Lydia. He found her, and she encouraged him and told him that he was on the right track. A few weeks later, Lydia ended up dead."

Erin grimaced. The murder of a former cop who was assisting in an investigation to a police cover-up was indeed a big deal, the sort of thing that DA s did in fact give concessions to persons who had knowledge of crimes like that.. Erin braced herself for the worst news.

"Bello is ready to give us the whole story on the murder of Lydia Gonsalvas in exchange for immunity to that murder, and placement in Sing-Sing, rather than Dannamora."

Erin blinked. "That's it? He only asked for immunity for the Gonsalvas murder, and not Joe's?"

Rossellini's eyes narrowed a little. "Bello's not quite that stupid. Nobody gets a free ride on a cop killing." Charles sighed a little. "Bello's 56. He planned to retire in 18 months, and … according to him he got involved with the Templar at first to pay for his daughter's chemo."

Erin didn't allow her heart to thaw at the mention of any possible motivation for Bello's betrayals. Self-serving rationalizations were, after all, what criminals were all about. She simply asked "do you buy any of that?"

"No, not really." Rossellini answered. "Bello's a dirty ex-cop, who happens to have a sick daughter to hide behind. That part's true by the way – his daughter's named Caroline, and she's stage four breast. She doesn't have long. But the point is that Bello's in the mood to talk because his youngest granddaughter is six, thinks the world of him, and would like it if she was able to visit him in prison every now and then. That's why he wants Sing-Sing. So he's going to offer the story on Lydia Gonsalvas, as well as the little bonuses of the rinky dinky drug dealers, bordellos, gambling dens and other five-and-ten stuff."

Erin sighed " So why are we here? You're the boss. You don't need my permission."

"I know. I just wanted to be the one to tell you first. I figured that you wouldn't like it, but if anyone could understand a family like the Gonsalvas' wanting closure on a murder like this. …"

"Right…." Erin said. Having just having had the blanks filled in on Joe's death, she could hardly criticize a decision to acquire similar closure for a fellow grieving family. Even before Joe had died, Erin had known that better than anyone. She was after all the granddaughter of a cop, the daughter of another, the sister of a third, fourth, and a dearly departed fifth cop, and- _Blessed Mother help me_ – mother to a precocious daughter who couldn't wait to join the NYPD to make six. And there were no guarantees that she wasn't an aunt to a seventh and an eighth potential. – Grieving families were all part of the job, but nothing upset her father, grandfather, Danny or Jamie more than the helplessness of them having to say "I don't know" to families. It was a depressing Sunday at the dinner table when anyone's mind was on a case like that.

"Erin, I want you to know that the Gonsalvas case was the steak and potatoes of my decision to parley a little with Bello. You believe me, right?"

Erin suddenly decided that this was at least a two-drink event and signaled the waiter for a scotch on the rocks. "I do believe you. Any particular reason why I shouldn't?" her eyes narrowed at him.

"The drug stuff that Bello is offering … some of it might prove to be a little bigger than your run-of-the-mill stuff."

"How so?" Erin asked.

Rossellini continued, choosing his words carefully. "Right before your dad took down the Templars, they popped a major drug house and killed four people. They got money, and they got heroin. As for the heroin … Bello suggested that that might not have been the first time the Templars got their hands on the stuff. They might have been doing double duty as drug suppliers for a while… long enough that … perhaps they established a reputation for reliably being able to shield product from prying eyes."

"Ohhhhhh." Erin said. "and now that they're going to jail…"

"It's possible that there's a lot of street level pushers who are wondering where their new supply channel is going to be, and a lot of guys addressed as _jefe_ down south who are going to be shopping for a new delivery route."

Erin allowed herself a small smile. "That means a lot of ambitious amatures are going to try to get into the drug trafficking game in this town."

Rossellini continued the thought "And a lot of them are going to really, really, _really_ suck at it"

"Arrests galore." Erin said. "Lots of guys in narcotics and anti-crime will see the road for promotions."

"And we're going to be pretty busy." Rossellini added. "Of course, there's an uglier side to that too. Guys who they call _jefe_ down south are usually pretty serious about moving their product. They're usually not big fans of learning curves, and beginners who screw up early and often are often quickly retired. Your brother, and detective Curatola and the other folks in homicide might be busy too."


	7. 2011 Jills New Job

_**A/N**__:_ _Time to meet some new characters. I used to like the idea of a story that had Jill coming back as a nasty (I really hate her, you see), and to be sure her arc could still go a few different ways, but in due time the Bartowskis and the Reagans are going to have much bigger problems than the idea of Jill Roberts coming back into their lives. Time to meet one of those problems. _

_Minor character death in this chapter. It's kind of rough…._

**Chapter 7  
Prologue – Jill's new Job**

**May 2011 (Early the next morning)**

**25, 000 feet above Mexico**

**State of Sinaloa **

**Municipality of ****Culiacán**

"_Hey Chuck. I think we're about to lose Jill". _

"_Well just wait until everyone starts shooting and screaming. She'll wake up."_

"_Won't be long now. We just had the gearing up montage."_

"_Yup. Arnold's locked, and very possibly loaded."_

"_No, he locked but he didn't load. …. Ah. There we go. Locked and loaded." _

_None of the other brothers at the Gamma Delta Phi house made Action Movie Night as much as a tradition as Chuck and Bryce had. Other brothers came and went, depending on their workload/ social schedule, and movie selection of the week, but Action Movie Night was their Tuesday night thing, It would always involve the two of them, Chuck and Bryce, usually involve Jill as a third, and sometimes involve Bryce's flavor-of-the-month as a fourth. _

_She was on the couch with Chuck, catnapping in his arms, reveling in his warmth and not even halfheartedly listening to _Commando_. She didn't even like action movies, but she did enjoy listening to her clever boyfriend talk about them. He and Bryce seemed to have the entire Action and Sci-Fi genre's memorized, and could predict and identify each and every trope and cliché. A nap in Chuck's arms was always just the thing to decompress after a Bio II exam. _

"_Hey Chuck" Bryce asked__ slyly "nga'chuq DaHutlh'a?"_

_Jill's eyes angrily snapped open. "Ha'DibaH!" she snarled at Bryce. Bryce's eyes bugged out, and a gleeful grin spread across his face "This one's a keeper alright, Chuck."_

"_Mmmm" said Chuck as he held her a little tighter._

"_Mmmmm" Jill responded._

"Mmmmmmmnnnnnuuuuuuhhhh …." Jill Roberts groaned as she woke up. She hadn't been tranquilized since just out of Stanford, when she had to endure Fulcrum's training program. Fulcrum agents were trained to endure that, and worse … but it was still a nasty event to go through, coupled with the knowledge that it was also usually accompanied with dehydration and thirst not entirely unlike a hangover. … _wait a minuite … what time is it? And where the hell am I?_

She was obviously abort some sort of private jet – a custom made job from the looks of it. Some seats faced forward, like a standard LearJet or GulfStream coach … but then others faced inwardly, so that passengers could converse with each other. Some seat groupings had tables, so passengers could discuss this or that piece of business.

The seat she was in was fairly comfortable. And she was not restrained either. She was still in her Wienerlicious getup, although both her skirt and her underwear were mercifully dry. That was a saving grace to her dignity, as bladder control was an often-occurring-but-seldom-talked about casualty to being tranquilized. She blessed the correct decision to use the ladies room at the Wienerlicious before getting into her cab earlier this morning. Her clothes still stank of sausage and pork rolls, and her hands smelled of the anti-bacterial soap.

"_Buenos dias"_ came a male voice. From a seat on the left side of the aisle, and facing aft was Hector. Her kidnapper smiled pleasantly at her. The other abductor from last night was there as well, snoozing in the very first row of seats on the plane. Although Hector was surely armed, he looked upon her with a certain detached professionalism, such as a nurse might with a patient. He look was absent any lustful leer, suggesting that had no sexual mischief planned for her.

"Perhaps you'll have some water" Hector offered her a bottle. Jill wordlessly took it from him, and drank greedily, her mouth tissues rejoicing at being satisfied. The relief did nothing to quell her anger, though.

Rage at being abducted, terror as to what her immediate and near future held, uncertainty as to whether or not she even _had_ a moderate to long term future to worry about, and curiosity as to what she was doing on a private jet, all battled for supremacy in her mind. All of these were overshadowed with fatigue from the tranquilizer. Jill closed her eyes and slumped in the chair, briefly composing herself before speaking.

"Who are you? Why did you kidnap me?" she began.

Hector simply smiled. "As I told you last night. I am Hector. As to why I collected you- it's because I was instructed to."

"By who?" Jill demanded.

"By my employer." Hector allowed, his small grin never fading. Clearly he was enjoying giving her as little information as he could.

"Who do you work for?" she insisted. "Fulcrum?"

Hector simply blinked in recognition of the name, but did not respond.

"The Ring?" At this, Hector arched an eyebrow, as if he were slightly amused.

Sensing a possible item for her to seize upon, Jill said. "I've heard of you. You're a parent group of Fulcrum."

Hector merely smiled. "Oh, so you've heard of them. I have as well. I do not work for Fulcrum. I do not work for The Ring. Perhaps you have made yourself so difficult to find that you will be surprised to learn that neither Fulcrum nor The Ring is what you'd call a 'going concern' anymore. No, the man you're about to meet _has_ had extensive dealings with both Fulcrum and The Ring … but his goals are shall we say, more immediate. Simpler. A little less ambitious."

"Who is he?" Jill asked, gripping both her seat arms and her patience tightly.

Yet another shrug from Hector. "His name is Jacobo Segovia. " Then his eyes narrowed, becoming serious for the first time "But you'd be well advised to call him _jefe_ upon meeting him. It's customary in this part of the country."

Jill knew enough about that word to know that insistence on it typically said a lot more about the man than it did about the part of the country they were in, but she chose not to quibble the point. "What does … Jacobo want with me?"

Hector kept his voice calm, but his playful soft smile was now gone. "That's actually a good deal more than I know. I'm sorry, _Doctora_ Roberts."

Jill slumped back into her seat and sighed a sigh that caught in her throat. Her future – what she had of one- looked every bit as bleak as it did six or seven hours ago. She couldn't think of a single reason anyone would be interested in her that didn't involve torture and interrogation – and "Jacobo"'s familiarity with Fulcrum and The Ring didn't bode well for any scenario that didn't involve harm to her. She closed her eyes again, and once more fought the urge to cry.

"_Doctora_ Roberts…" Hector began somewhat helpfully. "_Doctora_ Roberts, I suspect that you are afraid that _Señor_ Segovia wishes to harm you. I cannot speak to that one way or another … but I can tell you that I have a great deal of experience in … acquiring people that _Señor_ Segovia wishes to meet. He's rarely had me use the private jet. And my instructions were to deliver you alive, unharmed, and un-insulted. He even had me remind Mateo there" Hector nodded to the sleeping giant man who had grabbed her. ".. that you are a lady of great education, accomplishment, and value and that you were to be treated as such at all times. Mateo is man who sometimes needs to be reminded about not breaking people places and things."

"So what you're saying is that your boss told you to come kidnap me, but not to hurt me. But he didn't tell you anything about what he wanted me for."

"That is correct." Hector smiled.

Jill sighed in both fear and frustration, looking out the window of the jet as she did so. The morning was clear and beautiful- if she had to script a final day for herself, the weather would probably be something as pretty as this.

Clearly no further information would be forthcoming from Hector, and she'd simply have to wait and see what the terrifying fact that she had been found out and captured truly meant for her. She sighed again, and ruefully thought that she'd have given anything to have been back at Stanford, enjoying Action Movie Night at the frat house again with Chuck and Bryce.

The private jet landed at Culiacan International Airport, and taxied to an isolated section of the jetway. Jill wasn't even a little surprised to see two large, black vehicles –Ford Explorer from the look of it, waiting for them, each with two men watching the jet as it approached. Unlike the impeccably dressed Hector, these people were garbed a little more casually, with button down shirts, but no ties. Jill had to squint in order to look to see if they were armed. They were, but not ostentatiously so- they had pistols in belt holsters and that seemed to be it. It looked like a team of detectives or something, but Jill knew that of course this was not the case.

The jet powered down and came to a stop by the vehicles. She could hear a soft hydraulic hum from the forward part of the cabin as the boarding door opened up. Hector rose and said "_Doctora_ Roberts, this way please."

Mateo was now awake and was the first one off. Jill was next down the boarding staircase. She could sense Hector behind her and when she was halfway down the staircase, the four men by the vehicles seemed to straighten up a little taller, and banish any thought of relaxation, as Hector came into view behind her. Clearly, for all his congeniality it was obvious that Hector was a man who commanded no small amount of respect from these … whoever they were. _Men with guns_ was all she knew for sure about them, and that was enough.

"Eugino!" came Hector's voice from behind her.

One of the men responded by relaxing and advancing a few steps with a welcoming smile on his face. "Hector! Welcome home!" With an appraising look at Jill, Eugino turned again to Hector and said "I see you were successful in finding her!"

"Do I ever fail?" Hector asked proudly.

Confusion was now reigning supreme in her conflict of emotions, beating back anger and fear, and Jill spoke up again. "Excuse me, but can anyone tell me why I'm here?"

"I'm afraid not, _Doctora_ Roberts" Eugino informed "Even I do not know for sure. All I can tell is that _jefe_ will be most happy that you're here. Shall we go?

The mid-May heat of the morning was already beginning to tell, and air conditioning in the Ford Explorers was welcome. Less welcome was the jarring view of the man who was riding shotgun in the Explorer that Jill was ushered into. The men she had seen outside of the cars had apparently only lightly armed with pistols, but the primary bodyguard in her car had an Uzi carbine across his lap, slung across his shoulder with a strap. The silent bodyguard kept the muzzle pointed towards the ceiling of the car.

From the seat behind the driver, Jill tried to imagine her escape options, and they hovered someplace around "none". The heavy firepower arrayed in this little mission to acquire her advised against making the keepers of that firepower angry. She had no idea where on the map of Mexico she was – indeed, only a passing look at the airport terminal even told her that she was at Culiacan … a place name that meant nothing to her. East coast? West coast? North? South? Even if she could tuck, roll and tumble out of the Explorer.. Where to then? What to do then? Who to ask for help then? If these men were employed by what she assumed they were, going to the police would likely end up with her right back in this seat of the Explorer hours later – with her company much more vexed at her. The one thing that alleviated her fear was the unexpected level of respect that these men seemed to be affording her – she was being treated considerably better than she'd imagine most female kidnapping victims were.

Jill Roberts had spent three content and happy years at Stanford as the girlfriend of an action movie nerd. She had seen enough movies that she imagined that she knew everything about what to expect about being taken prisoner by organized crime lords south of the Rio Grande. Sure enough, the large spacious black SUV was right out of Hollywood Prop Department- Drug Kingpin Division, but after that her expectations fell flat. None of the men leered at her, despite the fact that she felt particularly vulnerable in her Wienerlicious outfit. The cars' routes took them through mostly suburban neighborhoods with small shopping centers, not squalid slums populated with half naked kids playing in the streets. Few people stopped what they were doing to turn and stare at the two Explorers as the wheedled their way through the streets, apparently so inured were they to the sight of Ford Explorers going hither and yon.

Eventually the suburban neighborhoods fell away, and the Explorers began an ascent up the Sierra Madres. _This_ Jill decided, _I might have seen coming_ – whoever was important to boss around this crew was probably going to have a palace sized hacienda, complete with guards armed with all sorts of weapons, at the crown of this particular hill.

The cars turned into what looked like gated community. There was more than one house, and a picturesque mountain lake where a few geese and ducks prattled about. Two men with fishing rods seemed to be trying their luck against the subsurface inhabitants. Other people she could see included a party of horsemen out for a ride … including what looked like a 10 year old girl. Jill felt there _should_ be guards patrolling the grounds with AK-47s dramatically slung around their shoulders, with bandoliers of bullets festooning their torsos, but this was not the case. If the grounds _were_ being patrolled, -and they had to be - it was being done much more stealthily then Hollywood had taught her to expect.

The cars pulled up to the largest house on the plot. This too surprised her a little. It was a nice looking house, yes– and generous sized by most standards – but still not the gigantic country manor or mansion that the movies had trained her to expect. Rather than a gigantic plantation house that dominated every single building around it, the hacienda they pulled up to was simply the nicest nice house in the area – like one of the larger houses on a Beverly Hills street, ranking first … but still somewhat comparable to its neighbors.

Mateo, Hector and Jill entered the hacienda, which had a central foyer. Jill had no time to take it in before being ushered into a sunroom off to the side.

"I'll tell señor Segovia you're here." Hector said, leaving her alone with Mateo, who simply took a position at the entrance to the sunroom lest Jill think of leaving. He didn't stare at her, but looked at no place in particular.

For the first time Jill noticed voices coming from outside. A visit to the nearest open window showed that there was a large piazza on the side of the house right by it. From a distance of about 20 yards away, she could see a group of children – all about school age, it seemed. They were sitting in a half circle, listening in rapt attention to the a man sitting in a chair. He had a cell phone in one hand and a laptop computer in his lap.

She could catch snippets of the man's conversation into the phone. He seemed to be somewhat frustrated with who was on the other end of the line, but also knew that he had a young audience and made sure that they were paying attention to what he was saying.

"Yes!... Yes!... I realize that the Buy More Nerd Herd prides itself on on-site computer instalments and service … but I am _not_ interested in having strangers come to my house… No, not even such professionals as the Nerd Herd… I see. … yes thank you. Thank you yes. Yes, perhaps I will drop off my computer for service. I must decide. Thank you. Good-bye."

The man then killed the connection to the phone, and addressed the children. "And that, young ones, is the way to properly make a business phone call. Always remain polite and in control of your temper, even when dealing with foolish people, but always remain firm, and do not allow them to dictate to you. That was one lesson. The other lesson is this: Always be wary of someone who wishes to view your computer. Even the computer repairmen."

Hector now arrived at the man's side and whispered into his ear. The man immediately brightened "All right then, children! There will be no more today. The rest of the day is off! Everyone go home. Take care in crossing the streets." At this the children dispersed from the piazza and slowly scattered about, going Jill assumed, to various houses that she passed on the way in.

Hector and the man on the piazza left her sight for a brief moment, and before long she could hear footsteps in the house approaching. Now was the moment that fear should have been returning to her anew, but her curiosity was too piqued for her to be terrified.

Hector and the man entered the sunroom. "Ah _Doctora_ Roberts!" the man said with a broad grin, as if he were greeting an old friend he hadn't seen in years. "I have been looking for you for a long while. I'm happy to have finally met you."

Jill searched his face for any sign of smug gloating or condescension, such as what a captive can expect from her captor. There was none that she could detect. Feeling awkward, and slightly indignant, she folded her arms guardedly. "I'll bet you are. You had your friend Hector here tranq and kidnap me! You must have wanted to see me pretty badly."

At this the man turned to Hector behind him, and asked sternly as if scolding a child. "Hector, was the tranquilizer truly necessary?"

"It was at night, it was quiet and she _did_ threaten to scream." Hector defended.

The man shrugged "Then you did as you must, of course." Returning his attention to Jill, he said "Please forgive him. And me. I told him to bring you in using any means necessary, short of harming you. I simply did not want you going underground once more."

Jill continued to search his face. "Who are you? And what do you want with me?"

"Again, forgiveness please. I am Jacabo Raymond San Pedro Segovia. And I very much wish to offer you a job."

Jill's eyes narrowed. "Really. A _norteamericana_ with no documentation, no money, and no work history in Mexico. What sort of job could you possibly be … _offering_ … me?" She managed to allow a little bit of sardonic into her voice, as this was beginning to sound like an indecent proposal … albeit a weird one. Considering her surroundings, she wasn't 100% confident that this was the sort of job offer she could safely turn down.

She regarded Segovia. For one who ran a certainly successful and just-as-certainly-illegal business, he wasn't exactly old and dignified. Rather he seemed to be just a few years older than her. He had the physique of someone who was well fed but well exercised. His dress was casual, with a white button-down shirt and white khaki pants. A blue bandanna was around his neck. His eyes were grey and penetrating, and the man could even be described as attractive- had Jill not been half frightened that he was about to either shoot her or sell her into slavery.

"First," Segovia began "Let's talk a little about you." Crossing the room to where a chair was located next to a small desk, he sat down, and motioned to Jill to sit at the comfortable sofa, some distance away. Clearly Segovia had no desire to invade her personal space, and was putting a premium on her comfort. After some internal debate, Jill decided to sit.

From a drawer in the desk, Segovia drew a manila folder which contained several documents. Reading aloud he began "Jillian Anna Maria Roberts. Born in El Paso, Texas May 22nd 1981, Moved with family to Santa Barbara, California when you were 10. Graduated St. Bernadette of Lourdes Catholic High School in 1999, near the top of your class, granted partial scholarship to Stanford University. While at Stanford, recruited by Fulcrum in 2003 by Bernard Ominsky, now deceased. Graduated Stanford 2003 with a degree in biology, achieved doctorate in biomedical engineering Yale 2006. Last position held was engineering assistant to one Guy LaFleur, also deceased. Taken into United States federal custody in November 2008, escaped custody in May 2009, shortly before the death of Theodore Roark." At this Segovia leaned back in his chair and furrowed his brow. "Hmm I must be more courageous than others give me credit for. You are a dangerous woman to hire. Your bosses tend to die … unnaturally"

Far from acknowledging the attempt at humor, Segovia noticed that Jill was blinking her eyes in surprise. "Ted Roark's dead?"

Segovia snorted derisively. "Yes, apparently it was a very violent carjacking in Los Angeles. One where the criminal didn't take the car. And you know American newspapers. They never lie."

For the very first time since last night, Jill smiled and laughed a little. Jacobo Segovia was in all likelihood an unsavory one, but he did know how to use charm. "Is there anything left of Fulcrum?" Jill wanted to know.

"Simple answer? No. No one and nothing of consequence. The same is true of The Ring. I'm afraid, _Doctora_ that half the people you have been hiding from are either in prison, or are dead. Trust me when I say I know how taxing it can be to have powerful individuals and organizations hunting you, hungry for your capture. Or worse."

"Great", Jill said. "Now the only thing I need to worry about is the CIA locking me up for treason." To be sure, this was a relief, having the burden of Fulcrum wanting to kill her removed.

"Accept my job offer, _doctora_," and I think you'll be able to sleep soundly."

"I'll ask again … _jefe_ … what job is this?" Jill asked.

"Oh yes." Segovia gestured with his folder. "A bachelor's degree from Stanford, a doctorate from Yale, five years' experience with Fulcrum, including infiltrating Guy LaFleur's team, acquiring information on bio weapon countermeasures." He then sized Jill up in her current garb. "I feel your talents may be under used working behind the counter of the Wienerlicious in the Federal District."

Jill folded her arms and glared silently at him.

"_Doctora_ Roberts, the fact is that my … agricultural enterprise employs many men and women. I pay them better wages than almost any other industry in the region. Work is for the most part steady and stable, with very little danger of foreign competition and many of my workers live on this very compound. It's a safe, stable place to raise a family. As a result, there are quite a few children here. I was speaking to some of them as you arrived."

"Yes … I saw" Jill said, more confused than ever.

"Some years ago, we built a school on the compound in order to look to these children's basic education. It is now a fully functioning _primaria_ – it teaches grades one through six. It is even accredited … after a fashion… by the federal government. It usually has six teachers. Sadly, we have lost one," he said honestly. "We are in morning for Señor Raul Gutierrez, who died just this past week in an auto accident," he said dishonestly.

"I'm …. Sorry" was all Jill could think to say.

"I have brought you here, because I wish you to take his job. Tragedy or no, 8 year old boys and girls still need to learn their arithmetic and reading, and I can barely think of anything more exciting for our young girls than to have a female scientist teaching them. One who speaks excellent English and Spanish even!"

Jill suddenly felt lightheaded – was this really what the last twelve hours had been all about? A job offer? To teach? "_Señor_ Segovia…" Jill began "I'm not a teacher. I'm not credentialed for education in this or any other country."

Jacobo Segovia simply smiled. "In many places, that'd be a problem. Practicalities in this part of the country make it … less of a problem."

"Señor Segovia … your … business … You may understand that I'm hesitant to work for someone who … does what you do."

He shrugged. "I cultivate, harvest and distribute a popular product – one that has been in use for thousands of years, and will continue to be in use for thousands more. In so doing, I provide my workers with well-paying jobs… jobs that happen to be substantially more secure than other companies in Mexico can boast." he said, all this being technically true. "You have, I believe , the wrong ideas about people in my position. I do not engage in violence against the police habitually" he lied. "I do not torture, murder, or rape anyone for purposes of intimidation or any other purpose – nor do I condone or tolerate such behavior from my workers" he lied again, at least three or four times over. "I do not consider myself at war with anyone, although there are those who would imagine that they are at war with me" he lied yet again. "The government of the United States has chosen to name me as one of their enemies and on occasion the government of Mexico…but I'm sure you can relate to what that is like."

_Walked into that one _Jill self-admonished. Before she could come up with another complaint, Segovia held up his hand. "You could be a very valuable asset to my organization. My workers work better when their children are taken care of, and go to school in a safe environment. If you wish, you can limit yourself to being an instructor. You need not concern yourself with any aspect of my business that could cause more people to search for have every right to refuse", he lied once more. "If you say 'no', you can be back in Mexico City in time for your next Wienerlicious shift." – perhaps his most bold-faced fib of his sales pitch. "But before you refuse, perhaps you'd meet your potential neighbors?"

On the fence, and believing what she heard, Jill decided to hear the rest of the sales pitch with an open mind. A glance down at her humiliatingly ridiculous Wienerlicious outfit prickled her pride, and suggested that simply listening to the sales pitch couldn't hurt.

Ten minutes later, Jill, Segovia, and the still-mute Mateo were outside and in an air conditioned Ford Explorer, driving along the … _compound? Estate? Neighborhood?_ Jill wasn't clear on the appropriate vocabulary, but whatever the right vernacular, it was clear that Jacobo Segovia was in charge of it all.

Immediately behind the house, were two large fields. It looked like twenty or so workers walked up and down the rows of plant life – they were too far away for Jill to identify the crop, but she assumed they'd either be opium poppies – the raw material for heroin – or marijuana plants. A small tower was on the road near the roadway, and as Explorer drove past it, she couldn't help noticing what looked like cameras pointing skyward from it. With the curiosity of a child at an outdoor art gallery, Jill opened her mouth and considered asking what that was for, but immediately thought it'd be better to be still – as it likely had something to do with drug production, and it was unlikely that it had anything to do with teaching.

A short distance down the road was a bunch of houses – Jill made it to fifteen before she stopped counting, Each one was modest compared to the main house, but each one looked very suburban and nice – very middle class and fashionable with small front lawns. At the far end of a row of these houses was the new looking school building.

Inside of it, everything looked new and state of the art. The desks were orderly and clean and in well-kept rows – and the classrooms she saw were fully equipped with blackboards, white boards, computer screens for multi-media presentations. Like a new homeowner showing off, Segovia waited by the door with his arms folded, and awaited Jill's appraisal. "This is amazing!" Jill exclaimed. "I'm curious – why do you concern yourself so much with your workers 'children's education?"

Segovia glanced down, as if embarrassed that what he'd say next would seem embarrassed or corny. "I feel it is the least I could do for my loyal workers. Many of them have jobs and duties that take them far away- some for extended lengths of time. It makes it easier for them to know that their sons and daughters are being taught in a safe and stable setting."

"I have to admit- I'm impressed." She allowed. "And you promise me that I could teach – and only teach? No involvement with the rest of your businesses?" she asked

Segovia held up his hands defensively and smiled. "You have my word. Anything that happens in this compound – you will have nothing to do with. The school head will provide you with a lesson plan on your first day. Perhaps… tomorrow?" Segovia asked hopefully.

"Okay. Then on those terms, I agree. I'll help teach." Jill said contentedly. Looking down at her Wienerlicious outfit, she said "Of course it might be best if I got my hands on some clothes?"

With a smooth smile, Segovia nodded once. "Perhaps in a week's time, we will move you out of your place in the federal district. Today Maria and Renata will take you shopping in Culiacan. They are waitng for you at your house.  
Jill blinked. This had been happening so fast that she didn't really think about where she'd be spending the night – just an hour or so ago she imagined that it'd be a shallow grave, or a dungeon, or the barracks of squad of sex crazed drug goons. "My … house?"

Cocking his head in invitation to her to follow, Segovia led her out of the school and gestured to a the row of houses that faced it. "I took the liberty of predicting that that you'd accept. The second to the left, you'll have all to yourself. It is quite secure, and Maria and Renata are very useful in assisting my newest and most important workers from moving in.

A brief drive in the Explorer later, they were at the front of a one story ranch house. Jill was in awe – it wasn't that the house was overly spectacular- it wasn't – but considering the run-down apartment she had been hiding in for the last two years, it may have well have been the Taj Mahal. Two women, one middle aged, one middle-aged-on-the-cusp-of elderly smiled and greeted her.

Mateo, by the driver's side of the parked Explorer drew his cell phone. "_Jefe_" he said, after glancing at the phone. He simply tapped his watch, to which Jacobo Segovia curtly nodded.

"_Doctora_ Roberts, I'm hopeful that you will excuse me. Bringing in a new teacher is the most important task I needed to do today, but not, sadly enough the only thing. I leave you in the ladies hands. Perhaps you'd care to have dinner with us tonight? I wish you to meet the other teachers here."

"Yes! Of course!" Jill said eagerly.

"After you're done shopping, Mateo will come for you. 6:30 perhaps?"

"That sounds great. I'll be ready!" Jill was still grinning as Segovia and Mateo got back in the car and left her to explore her new home.

= = = = = = = = = = BB=C=BB=C=BB=C=BB = = = = = = = = = =

Minutes later, Mateo drove Segovia away from the school and VIP residential complex. The road they were on wheedled along near the agricultural fields. These fields were large, and were plotted on a valley that was in in view of the ridgeline upon which both Segovia's house and the school/ residential complex was perched.

"Mateo, you seem quite deep in thought" Segovia said, lying yet again. Mateo was many things, but a deep thinker was not numbered among these.

"I'm unsure of your plans for this lady, _jefe_. She was a spy, you say… but you wish for her to teach?"

"The first priority in seducing any woman, Mateo … get for her what she wants. For some it's something as simple as a _cervesa _. For this one it's a new life. A useful purpose. In a few months' time, she'll not only do anything I ask, she'll volunteer to be my most useful of … employees."

At the edge of the field furthest from the ridge was situated one of the older buildings – old, but well maintained. Originally meant to house old farm machinery and the horses that pulled them, it was the type of large shed that other farm/plantation owners would demolish – though Segovia now used it for … other useful purposes.

… Not the least of which involved intelligence updates and status reports. Although no building was impossible for authorities or other operatives to bug, the rustic origins of the shed meant that there were no complicated electronics native to the building. That made the building very easy to routinely sweep for listening devices, as fancy electronics were easy to detect in this environment. That made the old shed ideal for discussing sensitive information.

Xavier Duque was the man Segovia relied on for updates on shifts in the political and business landscape in _norteamerica_ – it was a mammoth task, and typically Segovia was only interested in the cities where his products did the most business – but even narrowing the news to these cities could tax his intelligence officer. Still, Duque usually furnished good information. There were two types of topography that Duque had to contend himself with. One was the legitimate political atmosphere of US politicians and police- which cities were favoring tough-on-crime stances, and were electing aggressive district attorneys and mayors. The other was no less important – how the local American gangs that moved and distributed his product were managing in their cities.

Xavier began his briefing. "Chicago residents are concerned of a batch of poor quality heroin which has apparently caused several deaths. Chicago police are spreading the information around on the streets."

"Our people?" Segovia asked.

"None we have any close relationship with." Xavier reassured.

Segovia furrowed his brow. "We shall restrict sales to Chicago for two months – long enough for the panic to subside. If a putrid batch is on the street of Chicago, eventually some white teenager of a celebrity will die, will lead the news, and that will trigger a crackdown. I want us to have as little exposure as possible when that happens."

"Yes, _jefe_. Another place in crisis is Philadelphia." Xavier continued. "The mayor has teenaged daughters. It seems one of them was at a party where a boy overdosed on cocaine. It's the leading story of their local news. Nothing to do with us, but…"

"Immediate crackdowns across the city." Segovia nodded, familiar with this song and dance. "Evacuate the city, and move all the operations across the river to Camden. Spread the word that our operations in Camden are to be _aggressively_ defended."

"Yes, jefe. Good news from Los Angeles. Our heroin is becoming more popular and sales are up. I don't know what to attribute this good fortune to, but have our people asking. …"

"Good. I do wish to know." Segovia said.

"Costa Gravas is now very much a closed market. _Presidente_ Goya and _Secretaria_ of State Goya are very committed to destroying the narcotics trade there. They are patterning their new security forces after the NYPD. We have no more people there, and see no real hope of re-establishing anytime soon.

"Which brings us too … New York." Xavier said hesitantly. "Based on the news, local informants in their police department, and our … interrogation of _señor_ Gutierrez, the police channel of distribution was completely destroyed. The entire cadre of policemen were taken into custody, with the exception of _señor_ Malevski, who committed suicide. Exactly how much they know about our organization or our pipelines to New York we do not know."

Segovia put out a long breath. The Blue Templar had been a trustworthy and secure middleman group for moving a great deal of product. This had been a distribution catastrophe in the largest drug market in the US. "What happened?" he asked simply.

"Near as we can gather, this. Sometime, a few years ago our friend señor Gutierrez went to the American DEA, about us, in exchange for them removing his daughter and granddaughter from Mexico and moving them to the US. When the DEA learned that we were using … cooperative police officers in New York, the case went to the FBI., a jurisdictional peculiarity I still don't completely understand. The FBI recruited a local policeman to infiltrate the Templar – but he was found out and executed … the Templar successfully staging it as a dangerous drug raid that went badly. That policeman was the son of the New York commissioner of police. By some other way, he learned of these policemen and arrested them all in one night. There's nothing left."

"And this was because of señor Gutierrez?" Segovia asked. Xavier gave a quick nod. "Who else do we have in New York?"

"We supply the bulk of the heroin and are the most reliable transporter of cocaine for _Los Lordes_ .They can perhaps expand, but not enough to replace the product that the Templar could. They are primarily in Manhattan."

"I wish to send some people to New York, and find out who can. Or who can try." Segovia said.

"New York may be promising." Xavier said hopefully. "The new mayor is Carter Poole, and lacks a reputation for being tough on narcotics trafficking. If we wish to aggressively find new channels to distribute, now may the time."

"Mmm. Perhaps." Segovia said thoughtfully. "But for now we watch and learn. Thank you Xavier."

At the dismissal, Xavier shredded a few sensitive documents, and quickly left the office section of the old machinery barn. Segovia chuckled softly. Always one with a weak stomach, Xavier wasn't keen on being anywhere near the machinery barn anymore.

Segovia and Mateo exited the office and came up to a heavy wooden door. Jacobo Segovia knocked on it twice. The door immediately opened.

The room inside was spacious and mostly empty, perhaps about the size of two master bedrooms put together. With Segovia and Mateo inside, there were a grand total of five men. Three of them worked for Segovia, and the fourth one used to.

Of the two additional henchmen inside, one had two containers of gasoline. The other had a video camera pointed directly at 50ish, 60ish man. The man was having a very bad day.

He was suspended upside down in the center of the room, about four feet in the air, and directly above a bale of hay. There was barely a square inch on his body that was not bloody or bruised. A black eye had swollen one of his eyes shut. Sadly for him, he was still conscious for the time being.

Segovia nodded for the cameraman to begin filming. As he did so, he donned an old baseball cap, a pair of sunglasses, and a yellow bandanna. "Señor Gutierrez …" he began. "Why have you brought me to this? Of all my workers, why was it you who needed to betray me to the Americans? Do you know how much trouble I had to go to find a replacement for you at the school?" Approaching the suspended Gutierrez, and entering the camera frame, Segovia crouched down and grabbed a shock of Gutierrez's greying hair. "It seems you are a very clever liar, señor Gutierrez. You had us believe all this time that your daughter and granddaughter died in the car accident. I even sent flowers to their funeral. I am _greatly _disappointed to learn that it was lie. You sent them north to America as a condition on spying on me."

At this, Segovia's rage flew. He backed up from the helpless Gutierrez and savagely kicked him in the face. Gutierrez yelped, whimpered, and softly began to pray.

Segovia continued, as his victim swayed slightly like a human pendulum. "They got their money's worth, certainly enough. You shut down my best supplier in New York. It took you time, but you did it. Do you feel proud of your success?"

Grasping some of his belongings of the condemned man that were scattered about he examined a photograph. Then he gave him another push so that he began swaying again. "Your daughter Sofia is ... 38? A remarkably beautiful woman. Indeed! And your granddaughter Isabella is about to have her quinceanera? Also a beauty. You may think they are safe. And they are for today. But I'll seek them out. The day will come when I'll find them. When that day comes …" Jacobo Segovia was now snarling in Raul Gutierrez's ear. "Señor Gutierrez … did you know that some of my men are released from prison every year? Paperwork gets lost, pardons get granted, witnesses die. Many of my people in prison come back to me. Many of them have not seen a woman in months or years – certainly not ones as lovely as Sofia and Isabella. Ohh…. How happy they'd be to meet them when they're released."

With one more push on Gutierrez so that he began swaying again, Segovia said "When I find Sofia and Isabella, I will show them this tape we make of you. I will tell them that what's about to happen to them is entirely your fault. And by the time Isabella has her tenth lover in almost as many hours, she'll be cursing your name to hell."

With sadistic stare, he looked at the inverted Gutierrez's face for signs of anguish – any sign that his vile promises were hitting home. Instead, Raul Gutierrez had a soft, passive smile on his face, as if he had just finished a prayer. Slowly he opened his mouth to speak, his voice quiet enough that Segovia had to lean in to hear him. "My family …" he gasped out "is living life…free and away from here … away from me … away from you … away from all of this. I've listened to your bluster for twenty years … I know it when I hear it… Of course you'd do terrible things … to my family if you found them … but first you'd have to find them … _jefe_."

Segovia's face was unreadable behind the bandanna and sunglasses. The only indication that he was now feeding off of a cold rage was the chilled voice that came from behind the yellow bandanna.

"Your screams are going to give the head of the federal police and the American DEA nightmares tonight."

Mateo flicked a switch, turning on a powerful exhaust fan. The henchman holding the gasoline containers went to work. The first can doused the outside of the hay bale. The second went on Gutierrez so that all of this clothes, from the cuffs of his pants to the collar of his shirt, and his hair was soaked.

Disguised in his cap and bandanna Segovia addressed the camera. "It has been said that the deepest, and most awful level of hell is reserved for betrayers and collaborators. This man is braver than most – but a betrayer nonetheless." Turning to his victim, he said "Do you know what you'll find in the deepest level of hell, señor Gutierrez?"

Mateo tossed his _jefe_ a matchbook. Segovia struck one, and held the burning match up to display it. "This, señor Gutierrez. A great deal of this. Burn for all time, señor. Starting now."

Segovia lit the entire matchbook, and tossed it onto the gasoline soaked bale of hay, with immediate results.

= = = = = = = = = = BB=C=BB=C=BB=C=BB = = = = = = = = = =

The house was cozy and nice- and even had a spare bedroom – although Jill thought it was unlikely that she'd have company anytime soon. The bathroom was furnished with a basic set of toiletries, and the bedroom window had a wonderful view of … well Jill didn't like to think of the fact that she was probably seeing a field of opium poppies. Still, grotesque connotations aside, the view was lovely. It looked like a postcard of a busy farmer's field, or something out of an old lithograph – as if Currier &amp; Ives had developed a Mexican flavor.

Completing the idyllic scene was the cute little old fashioned rustic barn down at the end of the near field, obviously some sort of kitchen or processing plant that was in operation, judging by the thick wisp of greasy smoke that had just started coming from the chimney in the center of the roof.

"_Doctora_ Roberts?" came Maria's voice. "Shall we go shopping?"

Turning to from the window, Jill said "Yes! Coming!" And so Jacobo Segovia's new school teacher trotted out the front door of her new residence, and paid no more attention to the remains of Segovia's old school teacher that were now drifting to the west on the soft spring breeze.


	8. 2011 Carina's New Assignment

**Chapter 8  
Prologue – Carina's New Assignment**

**May 2011 (That same morning)**

**Los Angeles, California**

**Grand Ambassador Hotel &amp; Convention Center**

**Room 308**

Carina Miller stepped from the bathroom with a towel about her, and using a second towel to dry off her rusty red locks. From the bed, Jason was stirring, with perfect timing. Carina smiled. Jason had demonstrated an excellent sense of timing last night – and once very early this morning while it was still dark out. He'd do.

Sitting on the window - there'd been far too much tumbling around last night for them to settle on a "his" or "her" side of the bed- Carina grinned at her most recent conquest. "Morning, sweetie".

"Hey there." Jason said. "What time is it?"

"Nine-ish" Carina purred. "Chuck and Sarah said the restaurant's open for breakfast. I'm hungry and I want to see them off. You want to come with?"

A pained look spread across Jason's face. "Well, you see … the people who are serving breakfast- the wait staff and the cooks … I work with those people. It wouldn't feel right to eat down there."

Jason hopped out of bed and began to quest for his boxers, a search that ended when Carina cleared her throat, and displayed them on her pinkie. "They made it all the way to the bathroom door last night. That's some leg power you've got there, cutie."

"Thanks," Jason said, only slightly embarrassed. As he continued to dress, he asked "How long are you staying in town?"

Carina shrugged. "I got three days off. Why, what'd you have in mind?"

"I've my sisters birthday party tonight. But if you want to see LA on Monday, I can be free for that"

"Mmm!" Carina said, cool but interested. Dry now, she herself stood to dress. "Thinking of going out? Orrr…" she tempted, dropping her towel, "Staying in?"

Jason had reached his limit at resisting the DEA seductress. "I.." he stammered "I _did_ have some places lined up. But we can play it by ear."

Carina had already had her clothes lain out from even before she got into the shower, and so didn't take long to get dressed. Before long she was in a pair of shorts and a form fitting button up shirt, with the top three buttons unemployed. "Text me tomorrow, cutie." she said, zipping up her travel bag. Grabbing her phone, she said. "Or I'll text you. You'll be okay finding your way out?"

"Yeah" Jason said, half dressed. "I just need to sneak out the service entrance."

Carina decided to wait by the door for Jason to clear out, pausing to admire him from behind. One appetite satisfied, she set out towards the elevators in search of satisfying another one.

= = = = = = = = = = C=C=C=C=C=C=C = = = = = = = = = =

Alex McHugh was cooing appreciatively "I had no idea you could dance like that, Morgan!"

"I wish I could remember" Morgan Grimes groaned, nursing a hangover induced headache.

Golden State Grill was the Grand Ambassador's breakfast buffet, and much of the Walker-Bartowski wedding party was making use of it. John Casey intently munched on his steak and eggs, while Ellie and Devon each pitched into an impressive stack of hot buttermilk pancakes. Alex went with scrambled eggs and bacon, while Morgan started working on his omelet.

"Dude," Devon said, "if you're going to do that much heavy lifting, you gotta use the water. In between every drink."

"Sorry, Devon" Morgan grumbled. "I never had any frat brothers to teach me how."

"You want water now" Ellie supplied helpfully. "And a big heavy breakfast, so good choice with the omelets"

Mary Bartowski was sitting with her granddaughter on in her lap. "Are we heading back to Echo Park after we finish here, or are we hoping Chuck and Sarah show their faces?"

"I honestly don't know," Ellie admitted. "After the weekend they had, neither would surprise me."

"Nah, they'll be here for breakfast" Devon said confidently.

"What makes you so sure?" Ellie asked.

"You know Chuck. He loves breakfast." Devon defended. "Besides, he and Sarah are right over there."

Ellie punished her husband with an elbow to the ribs, and then got up to greet her brother and new sister in law. Hugging Sarah she said "You're up! I felt for sure you two would sleep in."

"Well" Sarah said "Our flight's at 1, so we couldn't stay the whole day inside. We wanted to say goodbye to everyone, and _my husband" _she said turning to Chuck "here was getting hungry."

"You really like saying that, don't you?" Ellie challenged with a grin.

"Yeah, I do!" Sarah giggled.

Chuck was occupying himself collecting hugs and pecks from pretty much every one except Casey, whom he knew better than to disturb while eating, so only Sarah noticed Zondra come storming into the buffet setup.

"Hey, Z" Sarah grinned. "How'd you … sleep?"

"I'm happy I survived" Zondra said foully. "I came _this_ close to dying of boredom."

"Mmm. So Lester's not in the Top 10?" Sarah quizzed.

"Firmly in the Bottom 10" she growled.

Alex grunted in a soft contemptuous whisper that only Morgan could hear. "Wonder how much space there is between those two population sets?"

"Oh, c'mon." Morgan scolded softly. "What'd Zondra ever do to you?"

"You're right. I'm sorry" Alex groused. Carina was the one who had seemed to be intent on seducing her Morgan a few months ago. Quickly switching her demeanor to sweetness she hummed "I still call the right to be jealous and protective though."

Chuck and Sarah quickly found their own breakfasts. Sarah's appetite had returned with a vengeance, and none would have been able to tell that she had been comatose from Vivian Volkoff's attack just over 24 hours ago. As she attacked her eggs, hash browns and scrapple, Morgan pretended to be horrified at her aggression. "She's like one of the velociraptors from _Jurassic Park_!" he whispered audibly to Devon.

"Uh-Uh" came a female voice behind him. The newly arrived Carina gave Morgan a rough tap on the shoulder. "The raptors only killed two people in _Jurassic Park_. Our girl here's ended a lot more people."

"Amen to dat!" Zondra agreed

"Huh." Sarah rolled her eyes. "Thanks for starting our honeymoon on the right note, girls"

"Hey," Carina offered. "I'm just reminding Chucky here, that you'd be the wrong lady to cheat on… or even to say no to when she wants him to take out the trash. Or whatever it is you domestic type people do."

"Like that thought _ever_ crossed my mind." Chuck protested meekly.

The three ex CATs shared grins until Alex broke the silence and offered. "The velociraptors killed _three_ people in _Jurassic Park_. Not two." Alex confidently caught and held Carina's stare.

"I'm pretty sure it was two." Carina insisted. "They ate Samuel L. Jackson, and then they ate up the hunter guy."

"They also ate up the guy in the very beginning. The gatekeeper."

Morgan beamed with nerdly pride. "I love you _so_ much right now" he fawned over Alex. Carina frowned and went back to her breakfast.

Chuck couldn't help grinning at Alex's ownage of Carina, if only in a minor matter.

"So how was your night?" Zondra asked though bites of hash browns.

Carina flashed a dreamy smile and gave a thumb up. "You?" she asked.

Zondra frowned and gave a thumb down.

"Speaking of great nights last night…" Carina turned to the newlyweds "What..."

"Carina…" Sarah said sharply, warning that it wasn't appropriate to press her for juicy details about her wedding night.

"I was only going to ask what you two are doing up so early?" Carina said innocently.

"Oh. 1:00 flight. And we were hungry." Sarah informed.

"Where are you going?" Zondra wanted to know.

"Hawaii!" Chuck chirped, hopeful that the topic could stay on family friendly issues.

"oooooh. Nice!" Zondra said, with a wolfish smile. "Great place for a honeymoon. Where you staying?"

"Pacific Emerald on the big island." Sarah beamed. "I promised Chuck that eventually we'd get out and about to see the volcanoes."

"Nice." Carina cheered. Turning to Zondra, she offered "If you're going to stick in town for a few days, I might run with Jason for a little. Maybe he has a hot brother or friend."

"Hmm" Zondra considered.

Across the table, John Casey ended the mood. "Um… bogies incoming."

The three spies named Bartowski turned their attentions to the doors of the restaurant, as did the two other CATs. Casey had noticed a sight that was difficult to miss. Two professional looking types, a man and a woman, strode purposefully into the restaurant, neither breaking their stride. The man was youngish looking, the woman seemingly middle aged. They both wore grey business suits, and so stuck out like sore thumbs in the casual relaxed atmosphere. They had both just completed the task of putting their sunglasses into the pockets of their blazers.

The pair made their way to the Bartowski table. "Sorry to bother you folks," the male half began. "But we're looking for Agent Carina Miller."

Instinctively, Sarah subtly gripped her breakfast fork, and Zondra and Casey also made sure their fingers rested on some cutlery. Mary Bartowski gripped her specially designed purse which housed her gun. Chuck, noticing his new wife's tension, made ready to flash … before remembering that he no longer had the Intersect, and that he and Sarah were officially spies no more.

Carina looked up guardedly at the two well-dressed intruders. "Well, you found me" she said coolly.

The two suits opened their jackets and pulled out their credentials. Now it was the woman's turn to speak up. "Agent Miller, I'm Special Agent In Charge Cecilia Tyndale, Los Angeles district. This is Agent Stephen Biddle." At the mention of the In Charge title, Carina immediately stiffened. Much as she was tempted to snark at anyone who intruded on her day off, it was something one simply didn't do to a SAIC.

"What can I do for you, Ma'am?" Carina asked.

"Agent Miller, I know today was supposed to be a day off for you. It was supposed to be a day off for me too. Instead at 0900, I received instructions to find you here, and escort you to the airport. You're being reassigned. Deputy Director Mansfield's plane is already there and waiting for you. That plane is supposed to be wheels-up at 1130, and a video conference at 1200."

Mouth agape, Carina looked at her watch. It was 10:45, so there wasn't much time to get to the airport. "Can I get five minutes to get out of my room?"

"That's where we're here to help, Agent Miller."

"Someone's getting the red carpet treatment." Mary Bartowski chirped, slightly impressed. "They must want you for something serious."

"Yeah, it feels so good to be useful" Carina dryly said, rising from the table.

Seven minutes later Carina, rolling luggage in hand, emerged from the elevators. Biddle and Tyndale were at the front desk taking care of some of her check-out particulars. She heaved a sigh. LA might not have been her favorite city on earth, in fact it was one of her least favorite cities in the States, but after she and Zondra had just help defeat the Libyan regimes, plus thwarted Clyde Decker and helped Chuck save Sarah's life, she really could have used a the few days off. No rest for the weary, it was to seem.

Sarah Chuck and Zondra were waiting for her by the elevators to see her off. Zondra's grin was from ear to ear. "Tough break for Jason the bartender. If you want I can keep him company. Maybe make him feel a little better."

"You're going to be too busy being the Queen Groupie for _Jeffster_, aren't you?" Carina snarked back.

Embracing her friend and partner, Zondra whispered. "Be safe, whatever it is."

"I will"

Carina collected her hug from Sarah next. _"Dobrze było cię zobaczyć . Nie pozwól mi brakuje Ci na długo."_ Sarah said affectionately.

"_Till skillnad från dig , befinner __**mig**__ fortfarande en spion . Jag ska visa upp när man minst anar det."_ Carina said saucily.

"Hmm" Chuck mumbled. "Sometimes I miss being able to flash."

Carina wrapped her arms around Chuck's neck. "Now remember, Chuckie, Sarah's been complaining to me about her men for the last eight years. So the first time you try hogging the covers, I'm going to hear all about it."

"Well, too late for th –" Chuck began with a playful twinkle in his eye, before being cut off by Carina's kiss. It was dry, close mouthed and brief, but it was still on the lips, and still took Chuck by surprise, and he jerked his head back.

Sarah snorted in discomfort. She knew her oldest friend enjoyed shocking people, but she was now officially annoyed.

"Byeeeee!" Carina warbled, releasing Chuck, wiggling her fingers in departure, and seizing her rollaway. Agent Biddle and SAIC Tyndale were already at the large hotel doors, gesturing to the large black SUV to swing around to the front of the hotel.

"Carina!" Sarah called after her, and following a step.

The DEA agent halted in her tracks and half pivoted looking back at Sarah.

"_To czas, bardzo ostatnio coraz pocałować mojego męża_!" the blonde former agent said pointedly.

"_Vi får se_" the rusty red warbled back before disappearing into the rear seat of the Ford Explorer.

Sarah watched her friend's car pull away, than pivoted on her heel to size up her husband of sixteen hours or so. "Did you enjoy that?" she asked through a severe glare, one she held as she stalked towards him.

"What? No! I mean, I didn't want to! Sarah, I swear!" Chuck stammered. Panicked at the concept of getting the day of on a very wrong foot, Chuck didn't notice Zondra guffawing behind him.

Sarah knew perfectly well that she now came equipped with a strong jealous streak -one that Chuck had unwittingly installed in her, come to think on it- but she also knew that Chuck knew that, and that he- sweetheart that he was, was sensitive at the idea of activating it. Pretending to be possessive and angry from time to time looked to be a wonderfully rich vein of fun for her to tease her new husband with. It'd be easy as well, as she wouldn't be pretending to be annoyed.

Dropping her severe stare, and now grinning widely, Sarah threw her arms around her husband, and kissed him passionately. After a few seconds she pulled back and, with her sapphire eyes sparkling with mischief, asked. "Did you enjoy _that_?"

"_Oh_ yeah" responded a thunderstruck Chuck.

Keeping her arms around her husband's neck she held his gaze with her own and said. "I am not letting you out of my sight for a minute in Hawaii."

"Good plan." Zondra encouraged. "One of the things you'll find in Hawaii, is a lot of women like me. So all women have to keep their man-pets on a short leash, especially the newlyweds" With that, she led the two Bartowskis back to the restaurant.

= = = = = = = = = = C=C=C=C=C=C=C = = = = = = = = = =

**Los Angeles, California**

**West Century Boulevard**

**Approaching Los Angeles International Airport**

"So… Ma'am" … Carina began slightly awkwardly. "I honestly don't get any clues as to what this is all about?"

She was sitting in the back of the Ford Explorer, with Tyndale next to her. An agent she hadn't met was driving while Biddle had shotgun. A glance at her iPhone confirmed an official e-mail about a change in her assignment.- but no details.

Special Agent In Charge Tyndale shrugged. "I'll tell you what I know, but it's not much. It's domestic. It's long term. It has something to do with New York City, although I don't know what. There's a team in the Big Apple offices that put in a request for you. By name. They actually wanted you a week ago if it were possible, but you were busy in Libya."

"Who put in the request?" Carina asked. "I'm based out of DC. Did they run it by Ellis?"

Tyndale simply shrugged. "Whatever it is the reassignment has juice behind it. I don't get out of bed at 9:00 on my day off unless someone has a particularly loud bee in their bonnet. I was told to that The Chariot was going to be in town, and that I was supposed to have you on it by 1130. Everything else about it is way out of my particular ballpark. I'm assuming you'll get what you need to know in the teleconference."

"Speaking of that…. I'm not exactly dressed" Carina said.

"I think you'll find a suitcoat in there. If you've never ridden The Chariot before, it's nice."

"Roger that, Ma'am." Carina said.

At the sight of the government license plates, and the government IDs of the agents in the vehicle, the SUV was waved past the security checkpoints of the airport and drove right onto the tarmac. At the edge of one of the smaller, commuter airstrips was a Gulfstream G650. Painted in a plain white livery, with the seal of the US Department of Justice on its boarding door, it was a vehicle that inspired Carina's curiosity. She'd met criminals and even worked marks who'd owned their own private jets, of course, but this was slightly different. The DEAs Gulfstreams – nicknamed "The Chariots" in some circles was often used as shuttles for senior agents who needed to be someplace far in a hurry- a mid-leveler like her getting such treatment was a rarity indeed. What, she wondered, could possibly inspire Uncle Sam to spring for the sweet ride?

"Good luck Agent Miller" Tyndale said in way of dismissal.

Biddle was already out of the SUV and collecting Carina's rollaway from the rear. "Good luck" said the other agent.

Somewhat ominously, as if the jet itself were alive and expecting her, the boarding door opened for the plane and steps deployed. The only human inside that Carina could see was a fresh faced male flight attendant.

"G'morning Agent Miller" the steward said as he ushered her into a well-appointed cabin. "We're probably going to get clearance to take off in about five minutes, so I'd like you to buckle up, if I can get you to do that. At 12:00, Special Agent in Charge Ellis is going to initiate a video conference" he pivoted to a laptop computer set up at the rear of the cabin. "over there. You have the cabin to yourself and we took the liberty getting a few suit jackets together, if you need them. Rest room is straight back to the aft of the cabin." With practiced skill, he hoisted Carina's bag up into a baggage storage compartment. "My name is Jarod, and if you need me for anything, there's a button by your seat." He said this last part over the growing whine of the engines, as the DEA flight began to taxi. Carina obediently sat, just as confused as ever.

A few minutes later, The Chariot burst through the wispy light cloud cover, and leveled off at 25,000 feet, cruising eastwardly. Carina now had a borrowed suit jacket and placed herself in front of the computer terminal, and patiently waited for 12:00.

At noon precisely the terminal chirped, and the sight of her usual immediate superior, Special Agent in Charge Richard Ellis greeted her.

"Morning Carina. Sorry to grab you on your day off."

Coolly, Carina responded "Of course, Sir. It just goes to show you- I take a break once, and the whole world ends. The world _is_ ending, right?"

Ellis nodded, as his fingers disappeared under the view of the computer camera on his end. "Something like that. The long and the short of it is that you're on your way back to DC for ten minutes. A car's going to take you home to get your toothbrush, and then right back to Reagan. By tonight you'll be in New York. There a team up there that's about to have kittens, and an undercover op is just screaming for your expertise."

"What's happened?" Carina wanted to know.

"I don't know yet. That's why…" unseen, his hand tapped more keys on his own keyboard "we're patching through to Agent Sperling right now.

The screen split, and on the left side of the screen was the powerful visage of DEA Agent Donald Sperling. Middle aged, African-American and with a shaved smooth pate, Sperling reminded Carina a little of Sarah's old boss, the late Langston Graham. The gravelly voice when he spoke did nothing to discourage the comparison.

"Good afternoon Agent Miller" Sperling began. "I'm Special Agent Sperling, with the New York office. Sorry to grab you on your day off."

"LA's not my favorite place in the world anyway, sir" Carina responded.

Finished with the small talk, Sperling got down to business "You're being reassigned to up here, Agent Miller. The trade here has just gotten even more unpredictable than usual. The first thing that happened was this- About two weeks ago, a DEA informant was murdered among three others in what looked like a nasty turf episode. Only it wasn't rival gangs. It was a band of broken NYPD cops that called themselves the Blue Templar. These men had had their own side business going on and were apparently quite the covert channel of heroin into the city. The informant had already gotten one of the Templars on tape. I myself brought this to Commissioner Regan, and the NYPD took it from there, scooping up all of the Templars in one raid last Wednesday. These Templars, it turns out were a pipeline unto themselves. Murdering rivals, running off competition, providing protection for friends -they did it all. They even murdered one of their own, Carina, an NYPD cop two years ago. The FBI was trying to bring them down, but the op got burned, badly."

"Sons of bitches" Carina muttered under her breath. Treachery and treason were endemic to the undercover world – indeed as a talented honeytrap Carina would no doubt be described as 'treacherous' by the likes of Karl Stromberg and others whose trust her job demanded that she acquire.

But such criminals deserved betrayal, as far as Carina was concerned. The blasphemy of broken NYPD cops gunning down fellow officers was too putrid to easily stomach.

"With the elimination of the Templars, we believe that the trade is going to get a lot more turbulent. People down south are going to try to find other ways to get their product into town, and locals are going to volunteer."

"Free for all?" Carina asked.

"Free for all" Sperling agreed.

"Agent Ellis mentioned something about an undercover op." Carina said.

"We've a team that we think happens to be ideally located to witness the next development." Sperling said. "They're who you're meeting next." At this, Sperling rattled a few keys on his end, and screen on Carina's computer split yet again. The new view this time was of a conference room with a table surrounded by six DEA agents.

The nearest one spoke. "Good morning, Agent Miller. I'm Agent Kevin Noonan. Our team's working a confidential informant who works out of a club in Little Italy." Now it was Noonan's turn to type something on his computer.

A picture of a young woman came up on the screen. She was black haired and attractive, but had a certain pinch in her features that suggested that she was familiar with some of the nastier aspects of life. Most confidential informants after all, were.

"Meet Katie May Lind. She's our informant" Noonan began. "She's works as an exotic dancer at a club in midtown, and has a serious beef with her boss. That's good news for us. The club is called The Mink Lair, and is currently under new management. We believe this man is a silent partner in the running of the club."

Another picture popped up. This one was of a late twenty, early thirty something man with classic good looks and smug cocky grin. "Meet Noble Sanfino. He's the nephew of Philip Sanfino of the …"

" … Cavazerre family" Carina finished, recognizing the name.

"Noble Sanfino is a ne'er do well wanna be mob prince who's a disaster waiting to happen." Noonan said. "He has a clean record so far, but at the rate he indulges in mash, that'll change before too long. Noble Sanfino is ambitious enough to try to seize on the new opportunities that the end of the Blue Templars will mean for the Cavazerre family, but he's also careless enough to give us an in. And stupid enough not to notice how careless he is."

"So is Noble a new mark?" Carina asked.

"No." Noonan replied. "No marks. You're going to be playing den mother. We're infiltrating the Mink Lair. Agent Angela Lucci" one of the female agents waved to the camera at this "is getting a job there as a waitress. That will get her close to some of the patrons. The guys are going in as patrons, to monitor other patrons. We're counting on Katie May to keep an eye on the other girls and look for drug activity backstage."

"Den Mother?" Carina challenged. "Not den Big Sister?"

Noonan cracked a grin. "Carina, we know that you've gone undercover on these sorts of assignments before, and we want you there to brief Katie May on her basic survival skills, as well as the use of the mics and the earwigs. She has a real beef against this place, so she wants to help us, but she's never done anything like this before."

"Have you explained to her the type of people that the Cavazerre family is? They're animals." Carina asked.

"Not in a lot of detail. We told her that we were grateful for her help, and that these people were dangerous." Noonan admitted.

"Dangerous…" Carina repeated to herself, disappointed in the understatement. Crossing the street anywhere but a crosswalk was dangerous. Driving with the "check engine" light on was dangerous. This Katie May informant was volunteering to be used as a weapon against a crime family with long reach, long memories, deep pockets, and a sociopathic disregard for people under them. "Dangerous" barely began to describe it. Quickly, she made up her mind.

"I need to meet this informant." Carina said. "And when we're done meeting, she's going to vouch for me to the management. I'm going with her. Backstage and onstage, if they'll have me. And they will."

Agent Noonan stammered. "Agent Miller, you know I can't order or even ask you to get this deeply involved in a case. We believe that just having a team in the building is enough. We can scope out any and all drug activity through the CI"

Carina shrugged. "Maybe we can and maybe we can't. I don't know. But I do know that if we're sending this girl into the snake pit we're better off with her being covered no matter which room of the pit she goes into. I can be there. Unless you plan on ordering me not to. In which case, why bring me in at all?"

"No Carina, if you genuinely have no problem with trying to work this closely with the informant, then I'd have no problem with you going onstage." Noonan agreed.

"You've read my jacket, sir. You know how hard it is to push me out of my comfort zone. Working at the boobie bar to snare someone in the Cavazerre Family is well on the safe side of it."

"You'll be here in New York by tonight, Agent Miller. How does 0900 tomorrow sound for meeting your new team sound? You'll meet Katie May in the afternoon." Noonan asked.

"Sounds great." Carina agreed. "And sir, I can see one or two of your guys blushing at the table. Tell them that it's okay. They'll hardly be the first men in the world to see me naked."

"Thank you Agent Miller. We'll see you tomorrow morning." Noonan concluded.

The video conference concluded somewhere over Denver, as the Chariot continued to cruise eastward.

Carina was excited at the new assignment. The possibility of the Cavazerre family taking new and dangerous risks, and making mistakes while doing them was enough to make her professionally salivate.

That too and the assignment was in New York. As much as she hated Los Angeles, she loved New York. L.A. was laid back and fanciful. New York was intense and gritty. Los Angeles was a haven for dreamers and idealists, a place fit for people who needed sunshiny weather 24/7/365. New York was cold, hard, businesslike and serious. It came with a varied climate from punishing summers to marrow chilling winters. In L.A. the business was dreams and fantasy. In New York the business was business. The failed cosmopolitanism of L.A. was what happened when people of different ethnic groups found themselves in the same area … but had plenty of real estate to avoid each other, and self-segregate. New York was what happened when all those groups were jammed together on a series of islands, and were forced to play tolerably with each other.

True, LA was where Carina kept her now married best friend, Sarah Wal- _Bartowski_ now she had to remind herself. That was what that wedding thing was about last night. But she could visit every once in a blue moon.

It was also true that LA was where her latest pet man Jason was, by now a thousand miles behind her and that distance increasing fast. With a slightly rueful frown, she drew out her iPhone and looked up Jason's number.

**Work Called me in. On a plane to New York. Will be there for a while. Had fun last night. Look me up if you're ever in New York.**

Carina frowned again. The text read a lot like a kiss-off that she wasn't really interested in giving him. Readying her cell phone she extended her arm and snapped a selfie of herself with a pouting expression. Examining it, she decided that yes, it showed enough of the jet's fuselage to lead authenticity to her text. Hopefully her latest bedmate would take the disappointment in stride, though that he'd be disappointed, she had no doubt.


	9. 2011- Manhattan Murder Mystery (part 1)

**Chapter 9  
**

_A/N : I like to think that Carina's grown a little bit in the five years of Chuck canon. The Carina we get in __Chuck vs The Wookie__, would of course have no problem bedding down her team members. By the end of __Chuck vs The CAT__ Squad, she knows she's been naughty and crossed a line with Alex and Morgan, thus I like to think that Daryl and Tessa are safe._

**Chapter 9**

**Prologue – Manhattan Murder Mystery I**

**November 2011**

**New York New York**

**Mid-town Manhattan**

**54****th**** Precinct**

Detective Jackie Curatola was beginning to hate the phone. With two detectives in the house on special assignment, other detectives, including her and Danny were stuck with covering follow up phone calls and reports for the absent detective's old cases.

Danny Reagan stormed out of Sergeant Sidney Gormley's office and slumped in his desk opposite her. "Well, Sergeant Gormley says that we all have to share the pain. If there are no bodies dropping today, we follow up on the old history cases."

"Great" Jackie grumbled. "Not only do I miss out on going to Costa Gravas, but they throw in a free case of eyestrain for me on other people's paperwork."

"Hey" Danny countered. "From what I hear, Costa Gravas is no plumb assignment. Besides, like Linda would ever be okay with me going down to Costa Gravas for a month without her."

"Who said anything about you?" Jackie snarked. "I don't need you to be there in order to indulge in three weeks of surf, sand and hot Latin guys."

Pretending to be offended, Danny asked "You'd really go without me? And stick me with a new partner?"

"Don't think for a second I wouldn't."

"Yeah well your consolation prize is that you get to go through a mountain of follow up reports with me." Danny grinned.

It was 11:25, and Danny's stomach was just beginning to demand that it be attended to when Jackie's phone rang.

"Fifty four detective's squad" Jackie answered. "Detective Curatola speaking"

"Please be a new case" Danny quietly prayed.

" Um… Linda. Hi." Jackie said as a look of confusion spread across her face.

Danny furrowed his brow and spread his hands, silently demanding an explanation. Why was his wife calling Jackie?

"Okay… yeah. Sounds good. Actually… that sounds great." Jackie was now beginning to grin. Again Danny gestured with his hands, impatiently demanding an explanation. "Sure. It's getting to be about that time anyway. …. Well that's great! Yeah good plan, by the way calling me first. Kay, bye." Jackie hung up the phone with a gleeful smile.

"Well, what?" Danny insisted.

"Linda has decided she's taking both of us out to lunch. She called me because she didn't want you telling her that we're too busy."

"We _are_ too busy!"

"We are _not_ too busy." Jackie insisted, gathering up her purse and coat "And I'm getting a free lunch."

"Where we goin'?" Danny wanted to know.

"The café just outside St. Vincent's." Jackie informed, calling over her shoulder, as she was halfway out the door.

= = = = = = = = = = BB=C=BB=C=BB=C=BB = = = = = = = = = =

**New York New York**

**Mid-town Manhattan**

**Doctor Feelgood Café**

When Danny and Jackie entered the cafe, he saw that his lovely wife was not alone. Sitting next to her, and chatting with a nervous grin was another woman, slightly younger than she, African American and with sparkly brown eyes. A pair of hospital scrubs was visible under her windbreaker, immediately pegging her as either a doctor or nurse. It was this doctor or nurse who first noticed Jacki and Danny enter, and she rose to greet them.

"Hey, hon" Linda said in pecking her husband in greeting. "St. Vincent said they might be interested in me picking up some shifts, maybe in the spring, certainly next year."

"Of course they are" Danny encouraged. "You're the best nurse they've got."

"_Was_," Linda grumbled.

"She really was," encouraged Linda's not-yet-introduced friend.

"Danny, Jackie , this is Tessa. That is _Doctor_ Tessa Grant, and she's got a little bit of a relationship issue that I just know we can help her with."

"Whoah-ho." Danny feebly protested. "Relationship issues?"

"Don't worry." Linda reassured. "Jackie and I can do most of the talking"

"Okaaaayyyy" Jackie began guardedly. The divorced detective Curatola certainly didn't think of herself as any kind of relationship specialist… and even with that being so, Danny was even less of a touchy-feely type. Jackie was hoping that not a lot of demands were about to be put on her.

Reading both her and Danny's mind, Linda smiled and shook her head. "Oh, relax we're not about to go on Oprah or anything. I just wanted Tessa to see a real life cop husband who has a real life cop's wife, who not only tolerates, but actually likes his good looking female partner."

Danny furrowed his brow a little, not fully comprehending "I'm sorry, _what_ is this?"

Jackie quickly deciphered the meaning "Ohhhhhh…. You're husband's a cop?" she asked Tessa.

Tessa smiled softly, and shook her head a little. "I feel like such a possessive teenage girl … but yeah. Darryl and I were married about a year ago. He's DEA, and he's been here in New York for about two years. I came up and followed him here. He and I were … well we were college sweethearts … it's only really ever been just us."

"Well that's sweet … but you've already lost us" Danny quipped, "Everyone in the NYPD knows that the DEA aren't real cops"

"Danny …" Linda growled, dramatically leaning back in her chair so she could give her husband an exaggerated kick in the shin under the table.

Tessa laughed a little. "I'm almost embarrassed to call it a problem, but it bugs me just a little. I mean, I know there are female cops and female agents, and of course that's great. I should have no problem with it. I know I work with some cute guy doctors and Darryl's a cool as can be about it. But recently he and the team he's on got assigned to watch this strip joint …"

Danny's face immediately registered alarm. "Uh, Doc. If your hubby is doing undercover work, you should _not_ be talking about it. Not to anyone. It could get dangerous."

"Oh, Jeez" Tessa groaned.

Jackie temporized, mentally predicting which stations Tessa's train of thought would be stopping at. "Don't worry, you haven't told us anything important yet. But don't give out any more details. So there's a DEA team sitting on a strip joint. Fine. Can't be more than two or three hundred of them in the tristate area."

"Yeah," Tessa said. "And it's not the fact that he's in a place like that that's bothering me. My Darryl wouldn't have ten words to say to one of those bimbos. It's that …"

"The women he works with might have to work the room" Jackie finished.

"It's worse than that," Tessa said. "One of the women , this Ang…"

"No names! No names! No names!" Jackie demanded

"Oh right. Well one of the women on his team works behind the bar, and just back in May or June, this new woman joined the team. _She actually goes up on stage!_ " Tessa said in alarm.

"Whoa." Danny said. "That's pretty extreme"

"Yeah…" Jackie said. "Even by my standards."

"So I'm not being crazy about being worried?"

"Oh." Danny said. "Well, I'd never say that you're crazy… but it doesn't mean you've got anything to worry about."

"Let me guess." Jackie chimed in "You're not worried about him getting involved with the strippers on stage, but you are worried about him … what? Bonding with the female agents?"

Tessa sank her head into her hand. "I know I shouldn't think like this. It's ridiculous"

"Hey hey hey" Jackie said. "Don't beat yourself up so much. Partners do get close. "

"See?" Linda said to Tessa "I told you these two would be able to help".

"Partners get close," Jackie began again, "and it's true that in some cases partners actually do get together. So it's not like you're 100% crazy for thinking that it could happen."

"Partners" Linda began cautiously "Do have a special bond. They kind of own at least a small piece of each other that the other's spouse doesn't get to see. In some cases it's a piece that I might not even want to see."

"But…" Danny finally felt comfortable interjecting "It's mostly about standing by each other and having each other's backs. It's not about romantic stuff that most normal boyfriend/girlfriend couples have."

"Case in point," Jackie said "Just last week I went undercover as an escort. We had to get this guy who was killing prostitutes. He was a real bad man – actually a son &amp; mother team – and they needed to be taken down. It turns out they had a thing for Mediterranean looking women with dark hair. So anyway, the job had me dressed up in sexy lingerie. Danny and two other guys were across the hall as my backup, watching me on the monitors. They pretty much had to see me head to toe in that getup."

"But!" Danny interrupted "Romance is definitely not in the air, when it comes to times like that. Jackie's a great looking lady. I'll be the first to admit that. …"

"Oh, will you now?" Linda faux challenged, although her tone of voice illustrated that she was supporting Danny's point.

"Yeah, I will." Danny said, knowingly deflecting Linda's challenge. "But it's also a scary thing to see your partner half naked and vulnerable like that. You're not thinking about how great they look, you're thinking about how bad things can turn, how exposed your partner is if they do. You feel like a guard walking a post, or a runner on the starting blocks, just waiting for a shot to go off, or a weird noise to happen, or for one false little thing to go wrong, for you to swing into action to do something. It's not sexy or exciting, no matter how good looking your partner is. If your husband is anything like me, then seeing his partner on teammate half-naked … or more …isn't going to be a lot of fun. Best case scenario, it's weird, and worst case scenario, it's scary, and he can't wait for her to get clothed and safe."

"And on the other end of things" Jackie added, "no matter how good Agent Provocateur looks on you … or in her case … _off_ of you, it's not about impressing the boys. Not when there's druggies and killers and other kinds of scumbags in the audience who'd kill you if they knew what you really were."

"Of course" came a new voice "if you can multi-task, you can keep your guard up and impress the guys at the same time" . The interruption came from the next table. Turning about, Linda's Danny's Tessa's and Jackie's eyes turned to locate the eavesdropper. The towering woman with reddish brown hair greeted the four with a cheery smile. "Hi" she said, taking her sunglasses off. "Carina Miller. DEA." Locking eye with the correct woman, she continued "You must be Tessa. Darryl's Tessa?"

Tessa's mouth flew open at the surprise intrusion, but her eyes widened in eagerness. Far from being intimidated or uncomfortable, Tessa seemed to be welcoming of this woman she'd clearly heard much about. "Yes that's me. Darryl's my husband."

Jackie regarded the newcomer, but out of the corner of her eye saw that Danny had a thoughtful expression on his face as he looked over the DEA agent.

" I figured. You're just like he described. He talks a lot about you. And if he's mentioned any of the women that he works with he's talked about Jacinda, Angela, or me."

Linda introduced herself, "Hi. Linda Reagan. I used to work with Tessa. That's my husband Danny and his partner Jackie."

"H'llo." Carina wiggling her fingers at the two local cops, then noticing Danny's look. Cocking her head inquisitively, she asked "Do we know each other?"

"I'm thinkin'" Danny said, knitting his brows. "It'll come to me"

"Well, while _he_ works on that …" Carina said, jerking her head towards Danny but turning her gaze to Tessa, "Let me tell you about Daryl on-the-job. He's a great guy, he takes his work seriously, and he's a good team player. Kind of a Boy Scout, and the only downside to that is that he seems really awkward inside a strip joint. Probably the only black guy I've met who I can tell he's blushing in a darkened room – but we're getting him past that. He's a really important part of our team, and we can't do without him. I know –that is, we all know- from the way he talks about you that you being proud of him and what he does is a huge part of what makes him tick."

Tessa seemed pleased to hear her husband described thus, and Carina continued. "Now anybody who knows me knows that I'm no nun … and the rumor mill might have told a story or two about how I like to play with my man-toys. Suffice it to say, your Darryl isn't the kind of guy who strays. He talks about you like you're the center of his world. He actually reminds me of this guy my friend married earlier this year out in California. You're such a big part of him and how he does his job that messing with him would hurt him a lot. So even a cutie like Darryl is off limits to me."

Tessa gave a satisfied grin. "Thanks. That's good to know. I am really proud of him, you know."

"Great." Carina said. "Stay that way. He needs it."

Suddenly, Danny, who hadn't been paying close attention to Carina and Tessa snapped his fingers. "Carina Miller. Blackjack Task Force. Early '04"

Carina's head snapped towards Danny. "Oh woah. Blast from the past. You were on that? I don't remember you, I'm sorry."

"I think I remember your name, but not your face. There were a lot of people on that task force."

"Oh, yeah. Bad time. Glad the good guys won that one." Carina said seriously.

"Yeah, me too. Didn't get to see the end. My unit got called up."

"Well you got to put the heat on the bad guys your own way. The food was just better here, was all." Carina said with cool sweetness. "Anyway, I gotta head back. Darryl and the guys are going to wonder what I'm up too. He doesn't know I'm up here, but I wanted to make a point of meeting someone so important to someone so important to my team. It was nice meeting you, Doc. Bye everyone." With that, Carina donned her sunglasses and was away.

Lunch arrived and was eaten to mostly small-talk, and by the time it was done, Linda's friend was feeling a little better about her new husband with an attractive female partner.

Making their way to their car, Jackie quizzed Danny. "So this Carina gal, you know her?"

"I think it's fairer to say that I knew _of_ her." Danny said, getting to the driver's side door and getting in. "I don't think I ever met her in person, and if I did, there it would have been in a huge conference room that had about a hundred cops and agents. We may have been on the same task force, but we didn't work on the same segment of the task force."

"Blackjack Task Force" Jackie remembered. "I remember when that was going on. I was still working vice. You were in …"

"Narcotics", Danny said as he started the car and slid into traffic. "It took the mayor three weeks and five deaths to decide that he had a problem with a bad batch of H on the streets. But I'll give him credit when due. When he finally got off his butt, and appointed a NYPD/State Police/FBI/DEA task force to take care of it, he went big."

"So you were on the task force from narco … where'd she fit in?" Jackie asked as the car pulled into traffic.

"Whataya mean where she'd fit in? She was one of the DEA agents on the task force."

"No, wise guy. I mean the way reasons why you'd remember her name. You said there were two."

"Wellllllll" Danny said kind of hesitantly.

"Out with it." Jackie said.

"Well, I didn't want to say anything in front of Linda's friend, but there were only two reasons why I would have known her name. She was just a young DEA agent … but she'd already cut her teeth doing foreign work. She still would have been one of the youngest kids on the task force. The guys would have noticed her because she's a looker, yeah … but I think she was connected to some rumors about how the case ended."

"Yeah, huh? Enlighten me." Jackie said.

"Well" Danny said, very deliberately "_According to the rumors_ … once the task force got the Blackack off the streets, and located the source, witnesses were hard to come by when it came time to put a case together against the players. I kinda remembered the name Carina Miller because … again, _according to the rumor_ … she leveraged one or two of the witnesses into agreeing to testify … as in they said they weren't, going too … so she slept with them, had a camera handy, and threatened to let their wife or girlfriend know if they didn't play ball and tell the truth."

"Holy crap!" Jackie said. "Any truth to that?"

Danny shrugged and said "Like I said … only rumors."

"But do you believe it?" Jackie wanted to know.

"Who knows? I got no info on it up or down. And I'm not going to make assumptions, either. All I know was that some guys were very serious about not testifying, and then they were pretty okay with it." Danny said with a shrug.

"Damn." Jacki said, slightly impressed.

"C'mon. Could just as well be a story that the guys told."

Jackie was just about to open her mouth to respond when the radio in the car crackled to life. Sergeant Sidney Gormley's voice grumbled from the waves. "Five-Four Detectives, Pick up."

Jackie picked up the mic. "Five Four, Curatola and Reagan here. On our way back from lunch Sarge."

"Don't bother coming back." Gormley's voice said "You've caught a homicide. 1245 Park Avenue. CSU en route. Straighten your tie for the cameras, Reagan."


	10. 2011- Manhattan Murder Mystery (part 2)

**Chapter 10**

_A/N: Was there ever a Chuck villain more hate-able than Nicholas Quinn? Not only does he damage Team B worse than any other baddie we met, it's that lilting, mocking, smug voice that makes one impatient for him to be defeated/dead. I don't think the show did enough with him, I could have done with a whole season as him as the big bad. We Chuck fans might not be thrilled with how the show ended, but I've never seen a Chuck villain that I despised… DESPISED ! more than Nicholas Quinn._

_I don't own Chuck and I don't own Blue Bloods, but Barbara Battle is TOTALLY my idea, and we'll find out more about it next few chapters._

**Chapter 10**

**Prologue Manhattan Murder Mystery II**

**November 2011**

**New York, New York**

**Midtown Manhatten**

**Amsterdam Estates**

**1245 Park Avenue**

Detectives Regan and Curatola's car parked a block away from the … "luxury" apartment complex. In any other city, the Amsterdam Estates would be considered "luxury" by a wide margin… Here on New York's Park Avenue, however it was upper mid-level, about fifteen blocks north of some of the most expensive real estate in the world. Still, the door was opened by a uniformed professional, the lobby staffed by two well kept looking receptionists, and décor did bespeak of tenants who could afford _some_ of the finer things in life.

The high speed elevator whisked them to the 28th floor. Jackie broke the silence "What are you thinking … domestic that went really bad?"

Danny shrugged, not altogether interested in speculating.

The elevator opened to the 28th floor. Even if the two detectives had never been to a homicide before, they'd know that something bad had happened as they stepped out into the hallway. The sound of a female's soft sobbing came from down the hall.

There were ten uniformed police milling about in the hallway and one of the apartments. The door to the apartment, room 2806, was open. One of the officers was talking to the young woman that was the source of the sobbing. Another officer was talking to a man whose suit designated him as a building security guard. The security guard's face was aghast – the look of someone who certainly hadn't expected to find a dead body today.

The woman, Danny noticed, would in almost any normal circumstances be described as very attractive. She had brunette hair and high cheekbones, and looked to be early 20s. The bulky hooded sweat suit she wore hid, but did not downgrade her attractiveness. What did diminish her attractiveness were the bright red, bleary eyes that were common on witnesses who had the gross misfortune of coming upon a dead body. At the woman's feet a docile little Jack Russell terrier lay quietly, somehow understanding that the officers surrounding him were not to be barked at, and did not want to play fetch.

As both the woman and the security guard were giving their basic info to the uniformed officers, Jackie and Danny entered the apartment. The stink of recent death hung heavy in the room. It was a weird, nasty mix of the stench of blood, and of human feces. Danny couldn't see the corpse yet, but it had obviously defecated itself. Self-control, hygiene and dignity … these were purely concerns for the living, and the resident of this apartment no longer prioritized them. Besides, messing oneself was, in Danny's opinion, an entirely reasonable response to the fear one must have felt in getting killed.

Crime scene investigators in their baseball caps, overalls and windbreakers scuttled about the large apartment. The DOA wasn't in the living room, Danny and Jackie made their way to the study, where the CSU supervisor and two subordinates squatted next to the victim.

He had been a man just on the boundary between "middle aged" and "elderly", anywhere from mid-fifties to early seventies. He had clearly not gone quietly into the night. He lay on his back behind a work desk, the rolling desk chair off to his side, as if he had fallen out of it. His right hand was swollen, especially two of his fingers. A small trickle of blood streamed from his nose. Blood in much more substantial amounts coated the carpet underneath him. His shirt showed two smallish entry wounds in his torso. A third gunshot wound was to his head, near the center of his forehead.

"I'll go talk to the uniforms" Jackie said as she left Danny with the CSU guys and the victim.

"So what've we got?" Danny asked the CSU supervisor. Glancing at the supervisor, he noted that his nametag said "Whitmore".

"A pretty fresh one" Whitmore said. "Not gone for more than a few hours. Livor and rigor have just begun to set in and he's not yet cold all the way. Still above room temperature."

Danny sighed. A fresh homicide indeed. Livor mortis was the phenomenon of the victim's blood settling in the lowest parts of the body, in this case the back, shoulders, buttocks and rears of the thighs. The status of this settling was known as lividity. Rigor mortis happened at around the same time, as the muscles of the body, having recently shut down due to oxygen starvation, stiffened. Both processes began a mere hour or so after death, usually. Fresh homicides always frustrated Danny somewhat. If only a recent decision had gone differently for this man, he'd be alive. If only a security guard had toured the hall an hour or so ago besides a half hour before or later. If only the victim had run out to the store and had missed his killer by a few minutes. Whatever had gone wrong to end this man's life had gone wrong only recently.

Whitmore continued. "Don't know who or what it's about, but this" he said, pointing to the forehead wound. " … is pretty interesting. It's a smallish caliber round. No exit wound means low powered handgun …. But that hole looks just a skosh too big to be a .22. No powder burns on the shirt or the forehead, so it was at a little more that point blank range."

" A .32?" Danny asked.

" I'll lay a twenty on it being a .25 once the M.E goes poking around in that melon." Whitmore responded.

"No powder burns …" Danny softly muttered to himself. He circled around to the front of the desk and extended his fingers as if he were a child playing with an imaginary gun.

"I'd say the gun was in front of the desk, not above it. Otherwise we'd get powder burns." Whitmore said helpfully.

"Right," Danny agreed, taking a step back. Gesturing again with his "gun", he mimicked shooting the target behind the desk three times "Bam-bam. Bam."

"They worked him over a bit too." Whitmore pointed at the left hand. "Another twenty says two of those fingers are broken, and that's a sucker bet if there ever was one."

"Not giving you my money" Danny said.

One of Whitmore's CSU guys spoke up. "Detective, you might want to look at this." He said pointing to the desk, which was conspicuously empty but for a calendar ink blotter.

"Look at what?" Danny demanded.

The CSU guy- this one's nametag said "Delassendro" – simply responded by shining a regular flashlight at the ink blotter. Four regularly spaced indentations in the paper indicated the weight of…

"Ok, our guy was working on a laptop computer." Danny said. "Which begs the question 'where is it now?'"

"Well," Jackie said, having returned from the hallway. "We've got a professor who's dead with broken fingers, and his computer stolen. Think the missing computer can be related?"

"I wonder." Danny said sarcastically, not thinking for a second that the missing computer wasn't part-and parcel of the homicide in front of him. "Professor, huh?"

"Yeah," Jackie said, glancing at her notes. "Apparently, this is Doctor Lewis Penncrest, He teaches psychology at Columbia. He was a pretty smart guy. Doctorates in neurobiology and psychology. Published a bunch of times, collaborated on a few textbooks… and…" Jackie continued letting her eyes fall around the magnificent apartment-cum-murder-scene " married an investment banker for his second marriage a few years ago. Hence the posh address."

"Good for him" Danny said. "We expect her home later today?"

"No, she died about two years ago. It was just him." Jackie informed.

"Who found the body?" Danny wanted to know.

"Yeah, She's right outside. Thought she looked familiar. Believe it or not, it's Jessica McLaws." Jackie said.

Danny froze in his tracks. "Jessica McLaws … Jessica McLaws… why do I know that name?"

"Um, because you have two sons who love video games, one of whom is on the cusp of puberty?" Jackie said through a grin.

"Ha-ha, very funny.'" Danny said. "No, seriously, why?"

"That _was_ why, genius." Jackie said. "She's a lingerie model, but has the rep as being America's sweetheart. Every male age twelve through dead is in love with her. And as if teen boys didn't love her enough already, she's the new skin model for Barbara Battle. She's already huge, and she's going to be even bigger once that game comes out."

"Yeah, well right now she's our witness." Danny said, leading Jackie outside.

Danny could see it now, Jessica McLaw's face was indeed familiar from a few appearances in which he had seen her on Regis and Kelly, Letterman and Jimmy Kimmel. Danny's son Jack even had a poster of her on his bedroom wall. Danny remembered himself and Linda being impressed with Jack's choice. His poster of Jessica McLaws wasn't overtly sexual, sleazy or exploitative in the way typical posters of starlets were – rather it was an action picture of her completing the New York City marathon last year. The poster depicted her power and pride, while unfailingly showcasing her magnificent face and body. There were worse celebrity women for his son to admire.

McLaws was beginning to recover from the shock of having discovered a dead body, although her eyes were still quite red.

"Ma'am I'm Detective Reagan, this is Detective Curatola. Do I understand right that you were the one who found the body?"

McLaws nodded. "That's raht" she said with a weary Alabama drawl.

"Could you walk us through your day today, up until the point where you discovered professor Penncrest?" Jackie asked.

"I swung by around 10:30 to pick up Aristotle." She gestured to the still leashed dog. "Everythin' seemed to be fine. I took 'im for his walk, we were out for about an hour, or an hour and a half, and then when I came back, a little before twelve, he wouldn't open his door. Aristotle started barking. I knew something was wrong. Lewis would never keep Aristotle waiting. So after a few minutes, I called the security desk. Ricardo came up to let me in, and that's when we saw …" Jessica allowed her voice to trail off in helpless horror. "I had no idea anything like this had happened! I thought maybe he slipped in the shower or had a heart attack or something! And then Ricardo and I come in and find …"

"It's okay." Danny said, weakly. "Aristotle is Professor Penncrest's dog?"

"Yeah."

"And the professor was in good shape when you came to pick him up?"

"He was fine! He seemed a little busy … but he always was like that."

"Was he alone?" Jackie asked.

Jessica McLaws nodded.

"And then what happened. You said you were gone until twelve. Where'd you and Aristotle go?" Jackie asked.

"Aristotle likes doing his business at the playground at Lex and 96th. And he's a big fat diva, he loves it when the kids come to play with him. When I walk him, we're usually good for an hour and a half."

"Right... So you come back, got the guard, and found him like that. Was he working on anything when you left?"

"I don't know. I didn't make it to the study. He just handed me Aristotle's leash this morning. And that was it."

"Was anyone else waiting to see the professor ..." Danny began

"Detective!" McLaws blurted out, annoyed. "If someone had been waiting to see Dr. Penncrest, _I would have brought them up to you by now_!"

"Okay." Danny said.

Jackie had a confused look on her face. "Ms. McLaws … there's something I don't really understand. You're big famous model … and you're walking a professor's dog?"

McLaws stared at the two detectives and her eyes began welling up, and her lip began quivering. "Doctor Penncrest was my philosophy prof my first year at Colombia. He was my favorite professor – one of the few who didn't talk down to me. I wasn't famous back then. Back then I didn't have a lot of money, and he came up with the idea that I start a dog walking business. I did. Aristotle was my first and favorite fur-client. I meet up with him once a week or so. I don't have a lot of friends in New York, and Dr. Penncrest was one of them."

"Gotcha." Jackie said, satisfied with the explanation.

"Ms. McLaws" Danny asked "Did Dr. Penncrest have any enemies that you know of? Any fellow faculty that he was having problems with? Anyone he owed money too?"

"None that I know of " McLaws said. "I'd be surprised if anyone did. I mean, it's not like he was everyone's best friend – he wasn't _that_ friendly. He did some work for the government, and didn't talk about a lot of what he did, but it wasn't like he was unfriendly about it. I've never met anyone who had anything bad to say about him."

At that, the model's phone rang. She moved to answer it, and while Danny was about to politely demand that the two detectives in front of her be granted priority, she quickly looked at the screen and said "It's my agent. Let me get rid of him" Answering, she said "Sol. Hi. Now's not a good time. Can I call you back in an hour or so? … Okay. Good." Hanging up, she shook her head in disbelief. "My friend gets murdered, and he wants me in LA for press junkets."

"Ms. McLaws, we'll need you to come down to the precinct to make an official statement, it should only take an hour or two. Would that be okay?" Jackie asked.

"Yeah," McLaws said.

"Detectives," Whitmore of the CSU said, holding up a prize, as he walked into the hallway. In his latex gloved hand, he held an iPhone. "I take it you don't want me to tag it and bag it like just any old evidence."

Jackie's eyes lit up at the acquisition of their victim's phone … and likely contacts list. "No. Tag, Bag, and right to the techno nerds."

Yet another voice from the other down the hallway, "Detective" declared the patrol sergeant – "Chen" according to this nametag. "We've got news on surveillance. Yes surveillance on the elevators and main lobby, but each floor has a access to the emergency staircase, and there're no cameras there."

"Great" Danny groused. Perhaps the murderer was foolish enough to take one of the elevator cars and get himself caught on camera … but Danny and Jackie knew better than to count on that. "Okay get a canvas on all the units on the floor, and go vertical say two floors up and down" he commanded.

"Already started, detective" Chen said with a bored degree of satisfaction that declared that this wasn't his first rodeo. "And you're not gonna believe who's one floor up."

= = = = = = = = = = BB=C=BB=C=BB=C=BB = = = = = = = = = =

**One Floor Up  
**

".25" Danny mused in the elevator. "That's an odd caliber. If Whitmore's right, our guy got hit with a pretty distinctive gun."

"Yeah," Jackie agreed. "Who even makes .25s? How many guns nowadays even accept a .25 ACP cartridge?" Jackie asked, mostly to herself and not really expecting an answer.

"Only three I know of" Danny said with surprising quickness. "Taurus PT-25, Beretta 21 Bobcat, and Volkoff _Zhavoronok_. It means 'lark'".

Jackie raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the readiness of Danny's answer.

"Guy I knew in the Marines. He was a walking encyclopedia of guns." Stepping off of the opening elevator, Danny inspected the hallway. "Okay … 2906. Do you want to start with this one, or save it for last?"

"Oh, we both know you're dying to do this." Jackie smiled.

Taking a deep breath, Danny knocked on the door.

For the last few minutes, he'd been trying to picture what the tenant would look like. It wouldn't be his first brush with celebrity, of course … but this particular one had been out of the limelight for some time.

"Hello," said the woman when she opened up her door. "May I help you?"

Danny blinked quickly. In her mid-fifties, Bo Derek's sex kitten days, arguably _should_ have been at least slightly behind her, but it seemed that she didn't know it yet. There was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, and soft coo in her voice which suggested a woman who did nowhere near believe herself to be through charming men.

"Miss Derek, I'm Detective Reagan and this is my partner Detective Curatola, NYPD. Might we come in?"

"Oh, of course," she said open up her door wide, and granting the detectives entry. Once both were inside the mildly luxurious apartment, Bo Derek turned and looked at Danny. "Reagan? Any relation to the police commissioner, detective?"

"My father." Danny said.

"Oh" Derek purred. "I came close to meeting him a few months ago. There was a benefit with Tony Bennet and Carrie Underwood. I don't believe he noticed me." Giving Danny an appraising glance from head to toe, she said "Clearly his good looks are genetic."

Jackie had to bite down a guffaw. Her partner might have been handsome enough, but he was commonly abrasive and businesslike while working a case. He didn't really send out the vibes that encouraged women to flirt with him, but some female witnesses and suspects tried to anyway. Jackie would always note that, and in each case, wonder why. Some women just flirted as a natural way of dealing with men … others used it as a way to deflect and distract.

"Miss Derek …" Danny began.

"Oh, no please. Call me Bo".

Danny's blush made Jackie more and more amused. "Sorry, Ma'am. Can't do that."

Jackie continued "Ma'am we're investigating a homicide on the floor below, and we're wondering …"

Derek's eyes grew wide with horror, and her mouth gaped. "Homicide? Someone was killed? Oh, but that's awful!" she declared.

"Yes, ma'am it was." Jackie agreed. Then she stayed silent, willing Danny to continue with the questions while she gauged the reaction of Derek. .

Derek then gestured to the sofa and love seat in the living area of the luxury apartment. "Why don't we sit down?"

Danny and Jackie were just about to sit when they froze in their tracks, as Bo called over her shoulder. "Oh, Nicholas. We have company."

From the bedroom of the apartment strode a barrel chested, bearded gentleman. He was dressed in a black suit and dark shirt that complemented his jet black hair and beard. He cut a somewhat imposing figure, but Danny noticed his eyes most of all. They were dark and slightly unfocused, as if nothing or no one in the room was of particular interest to him. With a critical glance at Derek, he asked in a long lilting drawl, "To your mind, is it truly the time to be entertaining, my dear?"

"Um, Nicholas, these two are New York detectives. "Derek clarified.

"Ahhhh… … … I see. Is it about the car that was broken into two nights ago? … Because if it is …" Nicholas asked.

"No, Nicholas. They say their _homicide_ detectives." Derek stressed.

"Ah!" he said with a grin that seemed most peculiar to both Danny and Jackie. "So someone killed the little jackanapes who broke into the car. Excellent to hear, detectives. Rather than see him arrested, I'd wish to commend him."

Danny was truly annoyed now. It was common enough for witnesses and victim's families and neighbors to try to charm a detective with humor … but a homicide investigation was rarely the times for jokes, and a brace of detectives who'd just seen a dead body were certainly not the audience.

That and there was something off-putting about this one's voice, and general use of words, as if he were someone used to using flowery language and complex words to express simple thoughts. It bugged him enough when Erin and Jamie used words more complicated than he was used to … but they were lawyer – trained, and so a five star vocabulary sort of came with their territory.

This person just seemed to like the sound of his own voice … which was irritating in its own right. Danny knew a brogue well – half the nuns that taught him when he was growing up had one, and so did a dozen or more of the Irish old school cops that were friends with either his father or grandfather. The brogue combined with his penchant for drawing out his words combined to give the illusion that this man was drunk a lot.

"Look uh, mister …" Danny began,

"Quinn's the name. Nicholas Quinn, detective."

"Mister Quinn" Danny began again. "We're investigating a homicide that happened not three or four hours ago in the apartment just below here."

"That's awful." Derek said again. Quinn now took a seat next to Bo on the love seat. With everyone now seated, Danny and Jackie now felt comfortable following suit.

"Yeah the victim was Dr. Lewis Penncrest, and he was a professor at Columbia. Have you ever met him?" Danny said.

"Oh. The professor. Would that be the one with the little dog?" Derek asked. Off of Danny and Jackie's nods, she continued "I knew him to say hi. I knew that he was a professor. But I didn't spend time with him."

"So you've met Aristotle?" Jackie asked.

"If that's his name." Derek said. "Like I said, I didn't spend much in the way of time with him. But I love dogs. You could always tell when the man below had a visitor – the dog would bark in that little yappy voice of his until he learned that he recognized his visitor. Then he'd be a good little dog." Derek said with a smile.

"A dog walker swung by earlier. Did you hear him barking then?" Jackie wanted to know.

"Only for a bit. One or two barks. I'm sure the dog knows his human beings. They always seem to." Derek informed sweetly..

"Ma'am, we believe that the victim was killed by gunshots. Did you hear anything like that this morning?" Danny asked.

Derek scoffed. "Detectives, if I'd heard gunshots, I'd certainly would have called the police about them. No I didn't."

"So you didn't hear any shots from the apartment below." Jackie asked to clarify.

"No." Derek shook her head.

" … but you could hear Aristotle barking earlier?"

_Direct hit! _Jackie held a poker face when she saw Bo Derek blink twice at having the inconsistency discovered. Danny's only follow up question was to arch his eyebrow inquisitively. Both detectives reflected that Derek had never truly been famous for her _acting_ talents.

"I ummm …"

Quinn on the other hand, seemed adept at improv. "Well detectives, it's not in the nature of a gentleman to brag, but Ms. Derek and I had been quite preoccupied with each other until shortly before you arrived. We didn't hear anything that's fit for repeating …" he said with a self-satisfied smirk.

Jackie noted that Bo's smile was less one of shy embarrassment, and looked more like one of some relief.

"Okay." Danny said, "so you were busy and you didn't hear anything, and you didn't know the professor all that well anyways. Now Ms. Derek, we're asking this of everyone, so please don't be offended: Do you own a gun?"

Bo blinked once more, and then gave another sweet playful smile. She tossed her long platinum hair back as she said "Detective, I think we all know that you can find that out for yourself by looking me up. What you really want to know is whether or not I'm a good girl who'll tell the truth. Yes I do have a gun. I'm the proud owner of a Volkoff Lark. A pink one… as well as a Baretta 8045 Cougar."

Danny and Jackie were now in rapt attention at the mention of the .25 caliber pistol. "Ms. Derek, once the medical examiner finishes the autopsy, we may need to examine that weapon."

Bo's eyes narrowed with concern. "Hmm detective, I don't think I'll be able to say 'yes' to that. I'm going to need my gun next week. I shoot competitively and a few of my friends in Aspen would be very unhappy if I couldn't make it."

Derek got up and strode over to a shelf on her wall, and proudly procured a framed certificate that contained photo of herself with three other women. All were attractive-even-at-just-past-middle age … And Danny thought that all looked kind of, sort of familiar. They all held modest trophies, similar to the bull's eye trophy on the shelf next to which the certificate was placed.

The certificate read _**Second Place Rocky Mountain Invitational 2010 – The Powder Burners – **_**Catherine Bach, Bo Derek, Randi Oakes, Lynda Carter**

"You'd think playing a cop would have made Randi the best shot, but no. Catherine and I are the best. They never did draw their guns on CHiPs" Derek said proudly. "I'm an integral part of the team. Next week we're going to snatch first place away from the Groovy Lands, the posing little sluts."

At this Quinn spoke up. "Anyone watching this one trade cuts with Pamela Hensley will not want for amusement, detectives."

Excited now, Derek said "A few from a British team might also be in town, so we might have to take them to school as well."

"Ah, yes" Quinn said wistfully "Julie Andrews is so proud of her ability to properly perform the Mozambique Drill, until she comes up against Catherine and Bo. Never can one watch Mary Poppins the same way again after seeing a thing like that."

Jacki and Danny both stiffened at Quinn's mention of the Mozambique Drill, which was defined as the putting down of human target with two gunshots to the chest, and an additional one to the head – enough to ensure that an opponent went down and stayed down. The drill perfectly described the wounds found on Dr. Penncrest below.

"Well, as much as I'd hate to leave Wonder Woman, Daisy Duke and Officer Somethingorother down a teammate, we are definitely going to want to take a look at that gun."

Derek's eyes flashed in amused confidence – as one who had just been underestimated and was about to turn the tables on her opponent. "I'll have to insist on seeing a warrant, detective" she said. "I'm looking forward to using it at the Invitational net week, and I leave tomorrow. "

"Tenacious this one is … particularly when it comes to firearms." Quinn seemed to gloat – though Danny decided that it could simply be the way he talked. Looking askance as Danny he asked "Detective Reagan … Did an obviously Irish fellow like yourself have a Catholic education perchance?"

It was Jackie who spoke up with a slight grin "both of us. St. Lucy's" she said with a thumb to her chest.

"Holy Cross" Danny said. "Why?"

"Then the good sisters no doubt had you learn your Rudyard Kipling. That clever chap taught us that the female's more deadly than the male." With a mischievous twinkle in his coal-black eye, he continued "which is why I'd lay even tender on which one of yourselves outshoots the other at the range, detectives. I suspect detective Curatola here is quite talented."

"You don't know the half of it" Jackie grinned with forced politeness, even as a chilling thought dawned on her.

"At any rate, I fear it'll take the power of the law to separate her from her firearm" Quinn continued.

"If that's what we've gotta do, then that's what we'll do. Don't lose that gun in the meantime."

At this Danny felt a squeeze on his right pinkie. Jackie was squeezing his little finger, giving him warning of a plan she had just thought up on the fly. _I'm going to tell a lie. Watch for a reaction._

Jackie reacted as if her iPhone was vibrating for her attention. "Hello, what have we here? … Hey partner – good news on the missing laptop."

"Who, Professor Penncrest's?" Danny asked.

"No Tyler Martin's" Jackie said sarcastically. "Of course Dr. Penncrest."

"What is it?" Danny pressed, turning to give his attention to Jackie but keeping Derek and Quinn in his peripherals.

"Four words – Remote Backup Hard Drive." Jackie chirped. "Our guy had a remote gizmo that recorded every keystroke on his computer. The tech guys just found it! We might not even need the laptop after all."

"Well hurrah for small favors" Danny said with mild relief. Sure enough, in his left peripheral vision, there was a blonde flash as Derek snapped her head to Quinn in what seemed like concern. Jackie noticed it as well, and she fought to suppress her look of victory.

Quinn's own phone chirped. After regarding the incoming text, he said to Derek "It seems that we're well advised to pick an earlier flight to Colorado, my dear. Apparently there's quite a loud chap there who has something we want, and isn't shy about letting everyone know it."

Danny and Jackie turned to leave, both detectives certain that the case of the late Dr. Lewis Penncrest involved a trail that blazed right through the apartment they were now leaving.

Once on the other side of the door, Danny said "You keep up with the canvas. I'll head downstairs to see what I can do about looking at that gun."

Jackie opened her mouth to protest, but found herself looking at Danny's back as it headed towards the elevator. "Better you than me" she said to herself.

= = = = = = = = = = BB=C=BB=C=BB=C=BB = = = = = = = = = =

**The Lobby**

_ I should have seen this coming. _Danny sighed to himself. But he hadn't. Both Danny and Jackie were sure that Derek and Quinn had _much_ more to do with the murder of Dr. Penncrest than that of the role of horrified-neighbor-who-couldn't-believe-a-fellow-tennant-got-killed. Danny's gut and intuition were among his strongest assets, and they were all screaming that Derek and Quinn were, for whatever reasons, key pieces of the puzzle as to why Dr. Penncrest was dead.

But the five seconds of incredulous dead silence coming from the cell phone made it clear that what was plain to him and Jackie wasn't going to be plain to the mechanics of the law.

"Sooo … Let me get this straight" came the voice of his sister over the cell phone. Erin was using the tone of voice that he remembered Jack's nursery school teacher using. No matter what Erin was about to say, Danny already knew that he wasn't getting a warrant for the weapon. "You want me – or any other ADA- to get a judge to sign warrant for Bo Derek's gun, based on the fact that _you think_ she lied about hearing the dog, but not hearing the gunshots."

"Well it's not just that – we think she and this Quinn guy might have the laptop that was apparently stolen from the place."

"Based on what?" Erin demanded. "And don't even think about saying 'a hunch'!"

"They didn't seem too happy when Jackie fibbed that there was a backup hard drive in one of the victim's rooms." Danny defended.

"Soo….. A hunch." Erin said sourly.

"Sis, I will bet you Sunday dinner that the M. E. pulls out a .25 bullet from the vic's head. That's going to be weird, distinctive slug, and it's going to match Bo Derek's pink little Volkoff Lark. Whaddaya say? Loser buys the roast."

"I'm not saying you're wrong." Erin said staunchly. "But I am saying that right here and now you've got nothing but hunches and gut feelings. No evidence at all. Wait until the M.E. gets the slug, then maybe you'll have a good reason to go into this lady's place to get her gun. Until then, I can't even buy a warrant with what you've got. In fact, I'm probably not going to be able to get one even after the bullet comes out, once we all learn how many .25 caliber guns are around the tri-state area. Sorry Danny, but Bo Derek and her gun are free to go where ever they want until you've got something a little bit more solid."

"Right, right. Got it." Danny growled. It was always annoying to hear his sister be the voice of reason, even more annoying when he knew she was right, and still more annoying to hear her explain in painstaking detail why that was so. Bo Derek and Nicholas Quinn, were for the moment, safe from any action.


	11. 2011- Manhattan Murder Mystery (part 3)

**Chapter 11**

_A/N: __Chuck__ was never a police procedural, and so the characters got away with things that would never happen in cop show – such as every villain probably going away to a "black site" rather than to real prison, and CIA/NSA "cleaners" keeping a good deal of the shenanigans away from prying eyes. _

_Most of the time you're supposed to just nod and smile your way past it, and for enjoying the show Chuck, it usually works. Still, there's probably a dozen and one incidents that could make you wonder "wait a minute – how'd they hide __**that**__ ?!", such as Sarah murdering Frank Mauser in "Santa Claus" (people are going to notice when an LAPD Lieutenant goes missing, even if you hide the body!)and my own favorite, Sarah's car spectacularly blowing up in broad daylight in the beginning of Chuck vs. The CAT Squad. I'm pretty sure the LAPD and LAFD would have insisted on being part of that scene!_

**Chapter 11**

**Prologue - Manhattan Murder Mystery 3**

**New York New York**

**Mid-town Manhattan**

**54****th**** Precinct**

**( A few days later)**

"And where are we on the death of the good doctor, Detectives?" Sgt. Sydney Gormley, asked with his inimitable mixture of concern, condescension, and sarcasm.

The three of them were in Gormley's office, and were joined by a fourth, some weenie from Digital Forensics named Bedrosian – who dared to speak, despite the fact that Gormley had specifically asked the detectives for the sit-rep.

"Sarge, that iPhone is encrypted to the point of being ridiculous. I was able to harvest a contacts list, but practically nothing else." Bedrosian said.

Jackie couldn't stifle her snort of derision "Yeah a contacts list that led nowhere. Nowhere with a capital N."

"Yeah, great work with the cloak and dagger" Danny snarled at the hapless tech weenie. "Maybe I should head over to Gizmo Garage or the Buy More and ask them to help." Regaining some composure, he returned to Gormley. "All we got is a bunch of out-of-context names – names of people who don't even seem to exist. Except for Ted Roark."

"Really, huh?" Gormley challenged.

Jackie flapped the reports in her hand "I'm telling ya, Sarge. It's like a roll call of ghosts. Check this out. Everyone here is either dead or in prison for something or other, and even the details are classified." Again she raised the reports for emphasis. "Theodore Roark and two others are the only ones here that aren't total question marks. Penncrest had his name with a tag on it that said 'engineer' … whatever that means. Other 'engineers' were on his phone."

Danny looked at his own list "Doctor Jonas Zarnow. Worked for the DOD. File redacted. In custody. Doctor Howard Busgang. Worked for the DOD. Deceased. File Redacted. Stephen Bartowski. Deceased. File Redacted. Theodore Roark. Deceased."

"No file to redact?" Gormley queried.

"Well, no. I mean he was the head of a huge tech firm. It's not like he worked for the government." Danny said.

"Riiiiight." Gormley challenged. "Because our government's not interested in computers and tech and things like that."

Somewhat defensively, Danny shrugged "I'm just mentioning it, is all. When we name checked Zarnow, Busgang and Bartowski, we got a little government work, and that's it. Penncrest called them "redacted". When we named checked Theodore Roark we of course got …"

"The life and times of America's favorite dead tech wizard" Gormley groaned in frustration.

"Right." Jackie affirmed. "Other names" she continued. "are tagged as 'I-candidates', though who- knows-what that means? Bryce Larkin. Deceased, file redacted. Scott Reynolds Deceased, file redacted. Curtis Stephens. Deceased, file redacted. Franklin Davis- Deceased, file redacted. William Cutty – Deceased, file redacted. Brian Frankford Deceased, file redacted. Winston Deveraux Deceased, file redacted. Daniel Shaw- in custody, file redacted. Charles Bartowski … huh. It doesn't say what happened to him, except for 'file redacted'. …"

"Bartowski. Was that name on both lists?" Gormley asked.

"Uh, no. Stephen was on the engineer folder and Charles was on the candidate folder. Must be related somehow." Danny said.

"Sounds like Charles is the lucky one that nothing bad happened to yet." Gormley said.

"Here's an interesting name. Hartley Winterbottom. That name shows up on both lists, both as a candidate as an engineer." Jackie said. "And who else is on the candidate list, but none other than our very own witness/non-witness Nicholas Quinn – file redacted."

"What were the other two names?" Gormley asked. To clarify, he added "You said there were two other names that weren't total question marks."

"Oh yeah. Langston Graham – deceased, and file mostly redacted. He does show up on a few internet searches, but that's mostly because he was a high ranking CIA guy. Deputy director, I think it was. The other one is General Diane Beckman, US Air Force. She's mostly redacted too, but we can get that she's an assistant director of the NSA." Danny said.

"Didn't your witness say that our vic used to work for the government?" Gormley asked.

"Yeah, but she didn't say what." Jackie said.

"So what have we got? A dead scientist who used to work for Uncle Sam, who knew a lot of other dead people … plus Nicholas Quinn, who may or may not have killed him."

Danny bristled. "There's no way he's in there by coincidence."

"Okay, so what do we know about these people besides that their files are redacted? Everybody has running water, right? Everyone went to school, right?" Gormley insisted.

Jackie nodded in agreement. "Already there" she beamed "When Jackie Curatola runs down a name, it stays run down. The dead candidates mostly have stuff in common. Larkin died in 2007, but here's the interesting part – the six other dead candidates, Reynolds, Cutty, Frankford, Davis, Deveraux, and Stephens all lived in the Washington DC area, and all except Larkin had their utilities cancelled in the same month – the same month that Langston Graham's electric bills stopped. September 2008."

"So they died around the same time." Gormley thought aloud.

"That leaves us with Larkin, Bartowski and Winterbottom. Now Winterbottom's still a black hole, but Bryce Larkin attended Stanford University from 1999 to 2003 … where he was fraternity brothers with …"

"Nicholas Quinn?" Gormley asked hopefully.

"No. Charles Bartowski – the only 'candidate' who's still alive and on this side of bars. Bartowski didn't seem to graduate until late 2008. Don't know why."

"Any chance of finding Bartowski and getting him on the horn? Maybe he can shed some light on these names."

"He shouldn't be too hard to find. He's listed as the owner of the Buy More franchise in Burbank."

"Great then. That's your next call!" Gormley said, as he dismissed the two from his office.

Jackie and Danny made their way to their desks. "This barely even counts as a lead." Danny grumbled, as he found his seat.

"Oh, c'mon." Jackie reassured. "We've gotten further with worse". She picked up the extension to the phone so that she could listen in when Danny dialed the number.

After hitting the "line 1" button, Danny punched the number pad eight times, to raise the Buy More in Burbank, California.

"Buy More Nerd Herd Desk. Jeffery Barnes speaking." came a pleasant, affable voice from the other end.

"Oh sorry." Danny frowned. "I wasn't gunning for the Nerd Herd desk. I was looking for anyone who can help me find the owner, a Mr. Charles Bartowski."

"Oh, well you're in luck. Chuck's filling in as manager for Mr. Grimes, who's indisposed. I'll transfer you to him" this Barnes fellow promised.

"Thanks a lot." Danny said, patently waiting.

Mercifully, the wait was brief. "Burbank Buy More. Chuck Bartowski speaking. Can I help you?"

"Hello, Mr. Bartowski. This is Detective Danny Reagan, New York Police Department. Do you have a moment to talk.?"

Predictably, the voice on the other end of the line registered some confusion. "Um, yeah I do. I mean I have a video conference in about an hour … but how can I help you detective?"

"Mr. Bartowski, we're investigating a homicide here in New York. Your name is listed in the phone contacts list of the victim, and I was wondering if you knew him. The victim's name is Dr. Lewis Penncrest."

There was a pause on the other line. When this Bartowski fellow spoke again, Danny decided his voice sounded like one who was genuinely bewildered. "No, I'm sorry detective. I don't know that name. And that's not the name of any of my docs. I have a GP and a dermatologist, my sister and brother-in-law are both doctors, and my wife .."

"Oh, wait sir." Danny interrupted. "He wasn't a medical doctor. He was a professor here in New York. He had doctorates in psychology and microbiology, and he taught psych here in Columbia University."

"Oh, ok. That kind of doctor." Bartowski said. "Still not ringing any bells, detective. I went to Stanford, not Columbia. In fact I don't even think I know _anybody_ in New York."

"Yeah, about that, Mr. Bartowski. You went to Stanford around the same time as another contact in Dr. Penncrest's phone. Did you ever meet a Bryce Larkin?"

Now the pause at the end of the phone didn't suggest bewilderment, but rather someone who was being very careful about what he could say. "Yeah, detective. I knew Bryce. He was once my best friend. We were roomies and frat brothers at Stanford. We had a falling out towards the end. I had to read in the paper when he passed away. Was he friends with this Penncrest guy?"

"That's what we're trying to find out, Mr. Bartowski." Danny said.

Across the desk from him, Jackie Curatola scribbled on a pad. Holding it up, she displayed her urging to Danny. _"Ask him about Uncle Sam!"_ Jackie then immediately gave a look that announced that she got an idea in her head and began to rattle on her computer.

"Mr. Bartowski, I'm going to level with you. We're getting the feeling that our victim was involved with some sort of government project. An awful lot of the scientists and people known as 'candidates' on his phone are dead and a lot more are in jail. We heard from one of the witnesses that Dr. Penncrest did some work for the government, but didn't say what. Any chance you'd know anything about what that might be?" Danny asked as Jackie continued to rattle on her computer.

"Sorry detective. Like I said, I don't know of Dr. Penncrest. I didn't even know who he even was until you just told me his name. I wish that I could be more of a help to you."

"I understand, Mr. Bartowski."

"Good luck on running your case. Hope you catch the bad guy." Chuck offered.

"Thanks." Danny said, hanging up. Across the desk, Jackie held an "I-know-something-you-don't-know" grin.

"Looks like someone had a light bulb moment." Danny groused.

"Well, Chuck Bartowski was all but squeaky clean, but that was the first time I've heard tell that he was married – so I just checked California's vital records. Sure enough, your new friend there is a newlywed, married to one Sarah Lisa Walker a few months ago. Now like I said Chuck's available records look squeaky clean for the last ten years – Stanford, Stanford, Stanford until 2003, and then it's Buy More, Buy More, Buy More until the present day."

Getting impatient, Danny said "So what? You, me and he all agree that he's normal, boring, and useless to this case."

"That's the _husband_." Jackie said. "The _wife_, on the other hand, has a record that is just plain old weird. First of all, she's the victim of bombing attack in February of this year – someone blew up her _beautiful_ 2006 Porsche 911 right in front of her apartment. She has an on-again, off again job as an interior decorator, at least that's what her employment records say – except for 2007, 2008 and 2009, when she worked – get this- at a couple of fast food joints in the same parking lot as the Buy More that she now co-owns with her husband."

Danny frowned. "You're looking at me like you just discovered the Missing Link. All this tells you something?"

"How does a chickadee who has to make just-over-minimum wage at the Wienerlicious and the Orange Orange _even manage to afford the insurance_ on a Porsche 911 to even get blown up? In _California_? In _LA_? And her husband just happens to be the only guy on that contacts list who's not dead, not arrested, and not fallen off the face of the earth? My first job ever was an Orange Orange at the mall, and I didn't even pull in enough to get an old hoopty. And I was living with my parents. I'm telling you partner, this screams weird, and it's one more level of weird on this case!"

"Okay okay. It's weird. So what, you think she's mobbed up or something? Some sort of Russian gangsters?"

"Maybe she's some sort of surveillance on the Buy More like FBI or NSA or something like that, and she met this guy working a case or something. Maybe she's Boarders and Customs, and there was a counterfeit electronics thing going on at the store. And he was helping her."

"Or maybe it's just what it looks like, and the car was a present from Aunt Beatrice or something. Other than that, it sounds like she worked at the hot dog stand and the yogurt shop, met her soon to be husband on lunchbreak, and now they live happily ever after. He bought the Buy More, and now she's married up. Good for him. Good for her. We're getting waaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyy off this case we're on partner! Does either of them have any connection to Nicholas Quinn? Or Bo Derek? Or our vic?"

"No, but ...gal goes from being an interior decorator, driving a Porsche to a minimum wage fast food girl?" Jackie pressed on. "You don't think that's strange at all?"

"Gee, Jackie, I don't know. I'll run it by my _Harvard educated brother_ who's supposed to be making six figures at Dewey, Screwum-Goode &amp; Howe, by now but instead is pushing a patrol unit around the island."

Jackie made a face as Danny continued. "The Dream Job Fairy doesn't visit everyone at the same time, or at the same place in their lives. And in California, people take weird jobs all the time."

Jackie's scrunched up face registered annoyance at her partner, at first, and then concern as he looked at over his shoulder. "Suits" she noticed with concern.

Indeed there were three men and one woman in business suits making their way to the office of Sergeant Gormley, whose office was just barely large enough to fit everyone.

"Feds." Jackie said, quite unnecessarily.

"And our vic worked for the government. I got ten bucks that says that this case is gonna be someone else's problem." Danny said glumly.

"Not giving you my money." Jackie said. "And you never have ten dollars on you."

= = = = = = = = = = BB=BB=BB=BB=BB=BB=BB = = = = = = = = = =

**New York, New York**

**Brooklyn**

**Frank and Henry Reagan's Residence**

**(A few days later**)

Typically Sunday dinner featured a spat over legal procedures with Danny loudly and forcefully complaining on how the nuances of the law protected criminals, rather than helping him put them away. As usual, Erin girded herself to blunt Danny's complaints against procedure, as she sat down on the broad end of the table, flanked by her daughter Nikki on her left, and Jamie on her right.

At the head of the table sat Frank of course, while Henry presided over the foot. Opposite the Nikki-Erin-Jamie broadside of the table sat Linda, Danny, Jack and Sean. Sunday dinners rarely changed.

To be sure, Erin only wanted it to change at all when and only when Jamie found another great girl – or less likely, it seemed- she found her own likely prospect. Any woman who showed an interest in either Frank or Henry would have to clear many a hurdle before securing an invitation to family dinner, and hopefully the day when Nikki brought home a male dinner guest was still far into the future. Each day however, brought it closer, something Erin didn't enjoy thinking about.

Hoping to start the evening off with pleasant thoughts, Erin took a swig of her red wine. "Jamie- great choice on the wine!" she praised her brother.

"Oh thanks. It's a 2009 _Chateau Le Franc_. They said it'd go well with the steak." Jamie informed.

"'Shadow of Frank?'" Sean repeated, bewildered. "They call wine 'Shadow of Frank'?"

"_Chateau Le Franc_" Linda said, correcting her youngest. "_Chateau_, not 'shadow'".

"It's a French word." Jack supplied. "It means 'really big house'"

Eight pairs of eyes from around the table all turned towards Jack, fascinated at the eleven year old's command of vocabulary.

"_Very_ impressive." Erin praised her nephew.

"Nice going, ace." Jamie added. "Where'd you learn that one?"

Jack's bespectacled face became thoughtful. "Not too sure. It might have been some travel book on France or Belgium."

"You know," Nikki began with a mischievous glint in her eye. "A guy who speaks French _never_ has to look too hard for a girlfriend, Jack. It's like a magic language for us girls."

Erin was tempted to nudge Nikki to get her to cease and desist, but she had to admit that the sight of her nephew presently blushing severely was hilarious. Jack now looked like an apple wearing glasses. For the fourth generation in a row, legend had been proven right as …

"… Don't worry too much, kiddo." Henry told his great grandson in sympathy. "It's been a Reagan family tradition for a long time. The women of the house have always been able to make the men blush at will. And there's no cure or countermeasure that's going to save you from it."

Erin agreed. "Grandmom had it. Mom _really_ had it."

Jamie sank his head. "Boy did she ever."

"I have it" Erin continued.

"Boy do you ever." Jamie agreed again.

"and now Nikki has it." Erin finished.

Taking up the train of thought, Linda continued. "I got it when I married this one" she said cocking her head to Danny.

Greatly amused, Frank went on "And I think Sidney was beginning to get the gist of it".

"Ugh!" Jack groaned. "Yeah she was. When she first started coming to dinner, she asked if I had a girlfriend." Jack grimaced at the memory from years back. "I'm like 'hello! I'm seven!'"

"She was a natural talent at it." Jamie said ruefully.

"Well, she'd be proud of Jack now." Linda said, having thought of yet another way to tease her long-but-not-quite-long-enough suffering son. "His celeb girlfriend is Jessica McLaws."

"Oh, no." Jack sank his head.

"Jessica McLaws?" Erin asked. "As in America's Sweetheart?"

"Oh nice choice." Nikki allowed. "I like her."

"Who's this?" Henry asked, having not followed celeb fashion models since the Kay Somersby era.

"Jessica McLaws." Nikki said. "She's this famous model, but more than that, she has a rep for being the nicest girl you've ever met. Really down-to-earth. She grew up poor, her dad's a firefighter, her mom had cancer awhile back. She got a scholarship to Columbia, and around the time she graduated she really took off. She does lots and lots of charity work, and she's really big on girls issues like eating healthy and fitness – which is kind of a good message for models to send out. She ran the New York Marathon a year or so ago – her sponsorship money went to the FDNY."

Frank nodded in recognition. "Garret is always slightly jealous when the firemen get a bigger celeb contributor than we do."

"Isn't she the skin model for the upcoming Barbara Battle game?" Jamie asked.

"Yeah. Jackie was telling me about that earlier" Danny said.

"A _what_ now?" Henry asked, bewildered.

"It's not as dirty as it sounds." Erin reassured.

"It's for a video game that has parts that look like live action." Jamie began. "Everything will be CGI, like the dinosaurs in _Jurassic Park_, but the characters will be patterned after real people, and have faces that look like real people. The game makers do it by having an actual famous person come in. They put them in this special suit and put their face into a facial recognition computer, so that when the game comes out, it almost looks like a movie. The people who do it are sometimes called skin models. Jack's … .uhh. girlfriend is in the new _Barbara Battle_ game."

"On the Christmas list of these two, I'm betting" Frank said with a nod to his grandsons.

"_Barbara Battle; Zombie Queller 4: Liberty or Zombies_ on sale at TechnoTown and BuyMore on Black Friday!" Sean added helpfully, haven seen the TV ads more times than could be easily counted.

"Well Jack – I actually met Jessica McLaws on this case I used to be working" Danny informed.

"Really?" Jack asked, excited. "What's she like?"

"Tough to say" Danny said. "The poor girl was the one who found the body, so she wasn't in he best place when I talked to her if you catch my drift." Danny pitched into some green beans.

"Is this the one you think Bo Derek killed?" Erin asked, suppressing a grin, but not keeping the condescension out of her voice as she passed the potatoes.

"You mean _the_ Bo Derek?" Jamie asked in surprise.

"The Bo Derek" Danny said. "And I didn't say she killed him. I said I wanted to take a look at her gun. "

"Who's Bo Derek?" Sean asked.

"She used to be an actress" Linda informed quickly, hoping to pounce on the topic in case Jack knew the answer to that one too. "A long time ago"

"I thought Bo was a boy's name" Jack said.

Frank suppressed a chuckle "Not in this case it isn't."

"Anyway it might sound nuts that she's wrapped up in a murder, but this guy who was in her apartment set off alarm bells left and right. That and this Quinn guy's name was in the vic's cell phone."

"Wonderful hunch, Danny" Erin cautioned.

"Yeah well the ME was just about to drop off my ballistics report when the Feds showed up. They were led by this guy named Decker, and all of a sudden this murder is national security this and federal jurisdiction that."

"Clyde Decker is CIA." Frank said, using his dull voice that suggested contempt. "And not the good kind. Your case must have some heavy duty secrets behind it."

"CIA?" Nikki said. "You mean like spies?"

Frank mulled the question a little. "Yes, Nikki. Like spies."

"Great" Jamie muttered. "Sounds like someone's getting away with murder. I guess they'll just sweep it under the rug?"

"It's the CIA, kid." Danny said. "Anything's possible."

"Soooooo are the CIA good guys or bad guys?" Sean asked.

Erin was the first to respond. "They're professional liars. I don't see how anyone who puts that on their resume can still say they're good guys. At best they /work/ for the good guys."

Jamie typically supported Erin in her more idealistic approach to the applications of law to the real world… but a month into his infiltration of the Cavazerre crime family; he now had an appreciation for the usefulness of cover identities and deceit.

"Like our plainclothes or undercover cops?" Jamie challenged simply.

"No, Jamie" responded Erin, who like the rest of the Reagans save Frank had no knowledge of Jamie's undercover assignment. "There's a huge difference between keeping the fact that you're a cop a secret and constantly lying about your existence to everyone you meet."

"If we had more people working for us like that fifteen years ago," Danny interjected. "We might have saved ourselves a 9/11. Those people of ours might tell a lot of lies, but you can't put a price tag on their information."

"Price tag?" Erin said hotly. "You mean things like 'trust', 'integrity', 'decency', 'human respect'? I'll agree we can use their information, Danny but keeping professional liars on the payroll is something we need to limit."

"I thought spies did things like planted bombs and ran after suitcases and things like that" Sean said, bewildered.

"That's what Hollywood wants you to think, boys" Frank interjected. "In real life 'CIA' stands for Central Intelligence Agency. _Intelligence_ in this case means the same thing as 'information'. Information's very important, both to the country as a whole and to the police. The CIA gathers information."

"And spying is the getting of that information?" Nikki asked to confirm.

"Yes," Erin said. "But some ways are sneaker and more underhanded than others. There's eavesdropping on conversations, flying over an enemy's territory, scouting an enemy position, but there's also stealing an enemy's mail, and sometimes going up to somebody, pretending to be their friend, gaining their trust, and just lying to them so they'll tell you their secrets and plans, knowing the entire time that you'll betray them."

"Yes, that's true." Danny said stubbornly. "And anyone who wants to be a spy needs to get used to the simple fact that some people in this world deserve to be lied to and betrayed, and that's that. Are they selling drugs? They deserve to be set up and stung. Are they into terrorism? They deserve to be lied to and exposed. Is it a gang of car thieves? Let's find someone to inform on them and find out where the cars are. Bad Guys don't deserve to be treated with 'honesty' or 'integrity' or any of that stuff if they plan on breaking the law and hurting people. If some other country is planning on hurting us, I definitely want the CIA on the job finding out about it."

"And that's the straight skinny." Henry said in agreement.

Frank, as was his custom at times, simply watched the on-going debate, enjoying the sight of his family smash philosophies.

"Gotta say that Danny's right, sis." Jamie said. "I mean, when you become a cop, you have to either already be comfortable with, or get comfortable with the fact that some people deserve to go to jail, and some people – the ones who are really violent when we roll up onto a scene -might even deserve to get shot – or at least that our laws allow for that. Spies pretty much do the same thing, except they deal in secrets and lies. Every undercover operation is based on it. Some people deserve to be lied to, set up and betrayed, and we do it for the good of all the good people out there who don't deserve to have their town overrun by criminals."

"I never said that it wasn't useful" Erin snapped. "But I still can't help wondering about someone who lies so well, so often and collects a check to do it. You can't trust someone for whom deceit and betrayal are their bread and butter."

"No, but you can use their information to save lives, while still looking down on them?" Danny said incredulously. "Spies are like the garbage men or the plumbers. They've got a dirty job, but someone's gotta do it, otherwise the world we live in grinds to a halt. The only difference is the plumber might get thanked every now and then."

"Danny's right." Frank said. "The fact is that good intel is good intel. I get regular briefings from the CIA on external threats to the city. They have a hard job. And a thankless one. It's a job we need to get done."

"It sounds like it's pretty important." Jack mused. "I wonder if any of them come to career day."

"No!" Erin, Danny, Jamie and Linda said in unison.

"If," Danny said you do ever become a government suit. "I don't want you to turn out like that Decker guy. The jerk wrangled up a federal prosecutor to yoink the case away from us. Just as we were making progress, too."

"Clyde Decker?" Frank asked. "I've had the dubious pleasure of meeting him."

"I've gotten pretty good at reading slime balls over the years, Dad." Danny said. "And that guy has scumbag written all over him."

"Another hunch" Erin warned.

"What? I don't get credit for a hunch that plays into what you believe?" Danny asked with a grin.

"Partial." Erin said with a grin of her own. "Who would of thought that my telling you shouldn't even ask for a search warrant would be the least upsetting thing for you about this case?"

"Between Bo Derek, Jessica McLaws, and tangling with half of the CIA, it's definitely the least weird."

The introduction of Linda Reagan's chocolate chip cake for dessert banished such unsavory topics as Nicholas Quinn and Clyde Decker from the table.


	12. 2011- Beauties, Bosses, Brawn and Brains

**Chapter 12  
Prologue – Beauties, Bosses, Brawn, Brains  
November 2011**

_A/N: Now us Chuck fans can say what we want to about Season 5, but here's one thing I discovered: It's a TIGHT season – 13 episodes that are practically back-to-back-to-back to each other, with very little space in between stories to wedge in a side mission or a what-was-going-on between A and B. There's 3 episodes of MorganSect arc, 1 episode directly after dealing with the fallout, then 3 episodes of OmenVirus arc&amp; DanielShaw. Then two stand alones with the Baby and the Kept Man, before plunging us into 4 episodes of the Nicholas Quinn arc. The End. Season 5 happens fast, quick, and in a hurry._

_We're in November of 2011, and this takes place in between scenes of __Chuck vs The Business Trip__. Morgan's been de-intersected, they know that all of the assassins besides The Viper have been successfully called off, and in order to lure out the Viper, Chuck is going to pose as Morgan at the titular business trip in Riverdale. But that's not until next Saturday, so there's a few days and nights the episode skips over, as Morgan's in Castle watching his DVDs._

_Chuck flashes directly in front of Carina in __Chuck vs the CAT Squad__\- and immediately talks about the classified information his flash produced. For this reason, I've always believed that Carina from that point on knows the ins and outs and roundabouts of the Intersect (she's canonically unaware in her previous two episodes). Jill, on the other hand sees Chuck flash directly in front of her three times, once in __Fat Lady __and twice in __First Kill__ \- but she's still confused by the third flash on how Chuck knows what he knows. So although she knows what the Intersect is, she doesn't know that Chuck is it. Why do I think that Carina knows while Jill doesn't? Easy. Carina's smarter than Jill, at least when it comes to this._

**Chapter 12**

**Prologue –**

**November 2011**

**Santa Monica, California**

**On ramp to Interstate-10**

**(a few days prior)**

Sarah Bartowski gleefully bounced twice in the driver's seat as she gunned the engine of her Lotus Evora up the on-ramp to the I-10. The car snarled as if it were angry at the city-road driving restrictions Sarah had it under, and was now happy to be enjoying its natural habitat.

Hitting the acceleration lane in the high-performance car was one of her favorite recent activities that didn't involve Chuck. A sense of anticipation was tingling inside her. For some reason Chuck had asked her to come up to the Buy More … not Carmichael Industries that was located in Castle, but the manager's office in the Buy More itself. That was unusual- but Sarah didn't have much time to dwell on it before her cell phone chirped with an incoming call. Sarah smiled once more as she saw the call from her oldest friend. Reaching into the glove box, retrieving the BlueTooth, and putting it in her ear, she answered.

"Hey Carina."

"Hey Blondie. How's married life treating you? Bored yet?" came Carina's voice.

"Not even a little. Did I fill you in on the part where we own our own company now?" Sarah asked cheerfully.

" …. Soooo ….. that's a 'yes' to being bored?" Carina deadpanned back.

"No. Actually life is weirder than ever."

"Oh really?" Carina challenged. "Do tell. Did Chuckie get a new accounting software for the company? Can Casey afford the deluxe gun oil he's always wanted? Have the Scrabble games gotten hardcore?"

"That Decker creep tried to kill Chuck by giving him a pair of Intersect glasses that held a faulty program. Only Morgan got it instead. The bad Intersect started melting his brain. General Beckman got the program out of him, but he still needs to be reeducated on all the things in his life that he's missed. While he was suffering from the effects, he managed to piss everyone off, especially Casey. He dumped Alex via text message, and it's an open question as to if they'll ever get back together again. She was pretty messed up."

"What's wrong with breaking up with a text message?" Carina asked.

"You don't do it to someone you've been dating for more than a few weeks." Sarah instructed, with a bit of a laugh to herself. "You've never kept a guy for longer than that, so you wouldn't understand."

"Very funny. And kind of true. So everyone hates Morgan?" Carina asked.

"'Hate's' not the right word, Carina. Chuck got over it pretty quickly. So did I, I guess. But Casey was the one who had to see his daughter cry. He's not as forgiving as Chuck anyway, especially not when it comes to that. At any rate, there's a hit out on Morgan, and while most of the assassins have been called off once Morgan had his intersect removed, one's still out there. We're going to reach out to him at a business meeting next weekend. In fact, that's probably what he wants to see me about. I'm on my way to the Buy More now."

"S ooooo… Chuck's like your boss now?" asked Carina, incredulously.

"That's just for the cover, Carina. Carmichael Industries is down below in Castle. Buy More is the cover. At Carmichael, I'm my regular self- and that's fine. I'm the co-owner of Carmichael. But as far as everyone at the Buy More is concerned, I'm Sarah, the Wienerlicious girl, who married Chuck. I hate to admit it, but my cover is kinda sorta a trophy wife. I don't know anything about running a Buy More. But Chuck's pretty good at it. He's stepping into manage it, while Morgan's in lockdown."

"Oh, I see. So what's he want with you there?"

"I've no idea. He's never asked me for any input at all on running the Buy More. I've never wanted him to." Sarah said innocently.

"Maybe he wants to play Naughty Secretary and Philandering CEO. How big's the office? Does it have one of those nice cushy rolling chairs? Can the desk take the weight of both of you?"

Sarah grinned to herself at Carina's attempt to shock. On this occasion her attempt had fallen flat. "Ha-ha. You laugh, but it just might be what he wants me there for. And as for your questions, the answers are: 'just big enough', 'no', and 'probably'. Either way, I'm dressed for it. Part of me hopes that's what's on his mind. We've never christened any part of the Buy More since we bought it. Chuck has a thing against doing it in any room he thinks Jeff or Lester might have been. Maybe he's coming around"

"Have you broken in Castle since you've been married?" Carina asked saucily.

"Of course. But that's nothing new -we've been doing that since long before we got married. We used to spend days at a time down there – so things just sort of naturally happened."

"I always wondered if that conference table was strong enough. It didn't look it."

"It is."

"You go girl. Did you break in the dojo?"

"Yes."

"The supply closet?"

"Duh."

"The clothing depot."

"Yes. But more often we just sneak dresses and costumes out of it and use them at home."

"The armory?"

"Guns aren't a turn on for either of us, but the racks _do_ come in handy."

"The holding cells?"

"'Yes' on one, three, four and six, but 'not yet' on two and five. We do have a home life, you know."

"And now you're geared for action again. You almost make being married sound like fun."

"I make being married _to Chuck_ sound like fun." Sarah clarified.

"You're welcome." Carina said smugly.

"Yeah I know. Thanks for telling him I was still crazy about him."

"Always happy to help out a friend. Even if it means that friend now gets plowed more often than I do." Carina grumbled. Sarah laughed audibly. "What's so funny?" Carina demanded.

"That very thought– of my bedroom being busier than yours- crossed my mind a while ago."

"Let me guess- the honeymoon?"

"No. Paris." Sarah said. "Anyway, tonight was supposed be date night, so I dressed appropriately. We usually do it on Fridays, but Ellie has off on Friday while Devon's working, and so she's hijacking me into a girl's night out. Or in. I don't know which, yet. So tonight was supposed to be date night."

"Girls night out without me?" Carina pretended to pout. "How boring"

"Well, A) you're welcome to fly out and join if you want. And B) Ellie and her friend Justine were both sorority girls – and apparently they have stories that are on par with the partying we did with the CATs. Only our locations were different. Ellie's trying to help me cultivate more West Coast girlfriends. For obvious reasons."

"Ouch." Carina said. "Remember when Amy got dumped by that Finnish hockey player?"

"Yeah! That was right when the CATs were formed. We cleaned out the liquor store and played Never have I Ever. That's when we really bonded a team. I thought of that just this week since apparently Ellie and her girlfriends had the same strategy while she was in college. Who knew that the CATs and the girls of Theta Alpha Phi had so much in common?" Sarah smiled at the memory. "So how're things in New York?"

"Drugs at a boobie bar hoping it leads to something big. The silent partner's connected. Have you heard from Z?"

"In Miami, last I heard. The Bureau has her checking out some bent cops."

"Funny. That's how my strip joint assignment started. Say, do boring married people still go on vacation? If so, New York's great. You can spend a week here and still not see half of what there is to see."

"I think we might be booked up this year – Chuck wants to take me to wine country. It might even be a couples weekend with Ellie and Devon. "

"Wow. Boring married couples going on boring vacations. You have no idea how many of us easterners are looking forward to that state of yours breaking off and falling into the ocean. Get on with it already."

"Not everyone likes New York weather, Carina. Say, it's mid-November – have you had your third or fourth blizzard?" Sarah couldn't help but grin as her car approached the intersection with Burbank Avenue. "Almost at the Buy More. Gotta go."

"Okay. Hi and bye to Chuckie."

"Okay I'll tell him -_Do widzenia mój przyjacielu"_

"_Adjö blond en"_

Sarah killed the Blue Tooth, just as the sign for the Burbank Buy More came into view on her windscreen.

She sauntered through the same doors that she strode through on many a day as Chuck Bartowski's bodyguard /handler/ cover girlfriend, then as girlfriend, and now as wife. When she had first met Chuck he was underachieving, working as the Nerd Herd supervisor. The circular desk was not the proper place in life for her Chuck … but she had to admit that part of her missed him being there. With Chuck either inhabiting Castle or the manager's office, the go-to Nerd Herder on duty was usually Lester Patel or Jeffery Barnes – neither one a particularly welcome sight for her –or any woman really- to find upon entering the store.

Jeff noticed her entrance. In the last week, he seemed to have been more aware and absent the spaced out look that she had come to associate with him. With a friendly grin, he simply cocked his head towards the manager's office in the back in the store. Sarah wordlessly smiled back at him and began making her way towards the back … when she found herself confronted by the image of two pistols pointed directly at her.

The woman holding them was about life size- only an inch or two shorter than Sarah's own five foot nine frame. The fact that she was made of cardboard gave her away as an advertisement, but even so, Sarah had to admit that the photo image of the woman's face made for a strikingly real likeness. The cardboard cutout woman was divided in half by an imaginary line down her center, dividing her hair, her face, and her body in a well-defined border. On her left side, she wore a classic female-spy cat suit, skin tight and black, with just a hint of shimmer. On her right side, her outfit was a long, flowing 18th century period dress, a magnificent yellow gown augmented with a black corset, and light blue petticoats. The image presented was that of a woman who seemed to be half in the present, and half from 240 years ago.

Half of a generous sun hat was perched on the half of her head that was on the right. The right, or 18th century hand gripped an old fashioned flintlock pistol that was pointed towards the viewer. On the left hand, modern spy half of the woman, a rolled up half of a knit ski cap matched and met the half of the sun bonnet, and the left hand held a pistol Sarah was much more familiar with – a modern day Glock semi-automatic. The woman's face was the only consistent feature bridging the two halves, and Sarah had to admit that she was a striking beauty with large brown eyes and high cheekbones. She glared at the viewer with a challenging stare – a lady who clearly meant business at the luckless individual she held a bead on.

Sarah glanced at that base of the ad, where the title of the product splayed across the knee of the woman's 1700s skirt/ tight black pants.

_**Barbara Battle Zombie Queller IV: Liberty or Zombies**_**!**

**Coming Soon!**

"Don't worry Sarah, you're still the prettiest one here" came a voice behind her. Lester Patel managed to make compliments that _should_ have sounded innocent and sweet instead sound leering and twisted.

"Thank you, Lester." Sarah said icily and not even glancing in Lester's direction. "New Movie?" she asked, glancing at the cutout.

"Um, Sarah … you're in the video game section. They haven't made a movie out of Barbara Battle yet … mostly because the universe is not quite that kind to us yet."

"Oh." Sarah said. "Looks like a movie poster."

"Yeah." Lester agreed. "They really made it look like Jessica McLaws. A nickle's worth of free advice, sister – Chuck's been a Barbara Battle fan since grade school. Christmas."

"Thank you, Lester." Sarah again growled before making her way past the cut out of Barbara Battle, and towards the manager's office. Although this Christmas would only be the fifth Christmas she had known Chuck, and only the second that they had really been together, she would never be so inept at treating Chuck that she'd resort to accepting advice from Lester Patel on what to get him for Christmas.

The door to the manager's office opened, and out strode John Casey. Perking up in acknowledgement, Casey jerked his head towards the office and said. "Hi Walker. He's in there."

"Hi Casey" Sarah briefly toyed with correcting Casey on his use of her maiden name – a name that was never even really hers to be sure- but decided that John Casey would be perhaps the one man in the world who got a free pass on it. She'd gotten used to being addressed as "Walker" by her former partner, now most valued employee of Carmichael Industries.

AS the two passed, Casey said "Um… Walker?"

"Hmm"

"I was just talking to Chuck. He mentioned that you, Ellie and a few others were doing a girls night on Friday."

"Ummm yeah." Sarah said, caught off guard. It was a most unusual topic for John Casey to have any interest in. "Ellie's trying to up the number of real-person friends I have in my life."

"Is there any chance … I mean is there any way you and Ellie might consider including Alex?" Casey asked with an air of dejected helplessness.

The request surprised Sarah to the point where she had no immediate response.

Mistaking Sarah's bewildered silence for hesitancy, Casey continued. "Alex is hurting over this thing with Grimes. Most of her girlfriends from college moved away when they graduated, so she's stuck with either me or her mother. I want to help somehow … but feelings aren't my strong point even when I'm having a good day. I don't speak 'heartbroken girl'. I'm not cut out for making her feel better."

Seeing Casey so stymied and helpless inspired a wave of compassion to wash over Sarah. "Okay John. I'll talk to Ellie. I don't imagine she'll say no. We'll take Alex out. Or keep her in. Or whatever we end up doing."

"Thanks, Walker" Casey said as he turned to leave.

"Uh, John." Sarah said to Casey's back.

"Yeah?"

"John," Sarah said seriously "Alex isn't a 'heartbroken girl'. She's a grown woman who's been hurt by her serious boyfriend. I've been down this road before with Carina, Zondra and Amy when we were on the CAT Squad. Make sure you don't ask for any details as to how we take care of a recently dumped girl friend."

Casey nodded knowingly. "Just make sure she doesn't drink and drive. Promise me that, and I don't want to know what else goes on with you gals. In fact, words can't describe how much I don't want to know."

"Copy." Sarah said with some reassurance. She turned and opened up the door to the manager's office.

Her husband Chuck seemed to be in his element. He was rattling away on his computer, and had a headset on; patiently talking through what was no doubt a customer through a tricky computer linkup. Sarah shut the door behind her, and looked on her computer nerd with admiration.

"Okay sir…now that you have the right video card we should be good to go … make sure your WiFi connection is up and good …. Okay? No? Okay than you'll have to log onto it again, your WiFi server I mean. … don't worry. I'll wait" Twisting the microphone away from his lips, he acknowledged his wife. "Hey hon! Thanks for coming. I'll be able to explain what we're doing in a second…" but then his attention was hijacked once more by his caller. "Okay sir. You're back on Wi/Fi! That's great. Now call up the ViewerBridge program for video… yes you do want to download the latest version. …it should only take a few seconds…okay I'll wait again."

Sarah pretended to be insulted at her husband's division of his attention towards her and his customer, and glowered threateningly at him, then changing her expression to a hurt pout, and then finally giving him a look that quickly turned saucy and daring. Squaring off in front of the desk that Chuck was now sitting at, she rested her hands on the desk top, and slowly bent over bringing her face towards him, and promising a kiss when she made it that far. At the same time, she knew that as she leaned forward Chuck was treated to a teasing view down the front of her white blouse.

But Chuck, knowing he was about to be aggressively seduced, deflected Sarah's hovering stalk with a quick lunge and kiss on her lips. His movement was fast and perfunctory, communicating that while he was all for kissing his wife in greeting, he considered himself too busy to be lured into one of Sarah's usually reliable seduction routines. After quickly pecking Sarah, Chuck was back in his seat as if nothing special was happening.

Sarah was not about to tolerate this. Retreating a step back to the door, she made sure that it was shut and locked. Turning her head towards the venetian blinds that were on the window next to Chuck, which afforded him a view out into the store, she then gently grasped the control rod. With exaggerated sensuality, Sarah, in full view of Chuck, ran her fingers up and down the control rod, before gently twisting it. The blinds were soon tilted shut, and now the manager's office afforded the couple as much privacy as the room could manage.

Chuck, noticing that the florescent light was dimming from outside the office, looked up at Sarah with a mouth gaping in alarm. Sarah was indeed in seduction mode, as she shrugged out of her suit jacket, grasped it by the shoulders, and placed it on one of the chairs opposite the manager's desk.

"Okay sir, it should only take a few moments for ViewerBridge to update …okay good forty percent – It shouldn't be long now." He looked back at his gorgeous wife towering over him, and his face betrayed a torn look. He was trying to concentrate on the person on the other end of the line, but clearly Sarah was intent on going to extreme lengths to capture his attention.

Very slowly she slid her hand up her blouse, and unfastened the first two buttons. She never wavered her eye contact from him, fixing his brown-eyed gaze with her own lusty blues as she slid her hands down the front of her blouse to pull the shirttails out of her suit skirt.

His eyes wide with panic, Chuck vehemently shook his head back and forth.

Sarah simply nodded intently and determinedly as she began unbuttoning from the bottom of her blouse now.

"Okay sir, you're at 80%! Great! We'll almost be ready to video chat!"

Still under the mistaken impression that Chuck was coaching a regular customer, Sarah finally disengaged the last button on her blouse, and began shrugging herself out of it. Chuck was now blushing severely. No matter how much or how many times many times he enjoyed his amazing wife, the sight of her in a swimsuit or lingerie, or half or a quarter naked was always new and invigorating. Scarlet red lace was obviously Sarah's lingerie selection of the day, and for the millionth and half time Chuck was ogling her with all the subtle sophistication of a twelve year old boy discovering his first dirty website or magazine.

In a desperate last attempt to stave off seduction, Chuck covered the mouthpiece to the microphone on his headset with his hand, shaking his head violently now and silently mouthing something to her. Sarah tried hard to read his lips, but the message was far too long. – at least five syllables long, considering how many times Chuck opened and closed his mouth.

Now caught in a frenzy between lust and decorum, Chuck decided to whisper his message as Sarah, now naked from the waist up except for her bra, bought her hand up – _oh my God that's a front clasp bra! No ! Don't!_ –

With a blink on the computer, Chuck was grateful for a distraction. "Hello! Hello! Mr. Finkelstein! Yes I read you loud and clear on both video and auto! Sarah should be here shortly…. Okay sure. Now you're on speaker."

Only now did it dawn on Sarah that Chuck was on the phone/computer with someone fairly important. Her mouth dropped in panic, and she snatched her blouse from the chair, quickly buttoning.

"Well Chuck, I just wanted to start out with how happy we are with the reception to your brother-in-law's commercials. We've seen a slight increase across the board in sales compared to the same month last year" came the voice of Buy More's founder and CEO Moses Finkelstein.

"Well," Chuck agreed pleasantly "Devon is a natural born star. He makes for a good face for the company."

"For customers, he surely does." Finkelstein agreed. "But I think I've got a PR job for you that only you and Sarah can handle. We need you to bring Jessica McLaws back into the Buy More fold."

"What, is she out?" Chuck asked with some concern.

"You remember the sexual harassment suit at the Beverly Hills Buy More?" Finkelstein asked.

"Oh. Right. That."

"Well her agent, Solomon Weissberg is keeping America's Sweetheart away from anything Buy More related. Buy More Beverly Hills is out…."

All this was little more than gibberish to Sarah, who by now was fully dressed again, and shrugging back into her suit jacket. She folded her arms patiently, listening to a conversation that she could only partially understand, and didn't particularly care about.

Moses Finkelstein continued "…They're thinking of doing the Black Friday open for Barbara Battle at the Gizmo Garage, but I want you and Sarah to talk her into simply moving the opening to the Buy More Burbank. Legend has it that you and Sarah met while you were working an 8-5 shift at the Nerd Herd desk."

Chuck grinned "Legend's right."

"Well then I can't think of anyone more qualified to present a more family friendly image of Buy More to Jessica and Sol."

"Well speaking of Sarah, she just got in." Chuck pretended to acknowledge his wife as if she was entering for the first time.

Sarah sauntered around the desk, and put on her sweetest smile. "Hello Mr. Finkelstein" she purred, placing an affectionate hand on Chuck's shoulder. "I'm so sorry I'm late"

"Nice of you to join us, Sarah." Finkelstein said. "Anyway, I need the two of you to charm Jessica McLaws on Friday night. You'll be meeting with her and her agent, Sol Weisberg at Fig &amp; Olive, and if you two can reference Devon's videos and maybe slip in that story about how you two first met, we might have a shot of Burbank Buy More hosting the grand opening for _Barbara Battle 4: Liberty or Zombies_. The long and the short of it is that we need to sell the Buy More as a family friendly place."

Chuck was bright and eager. "Actually sir, I think I can do better than that. I've been a big fan of Barbara Battle since I was in fourth grade. That was back when she was just a cartoon. I might have flunked social studies without the books. Even if I wasn't looking forward to this game as a Buy More owner, I'd be looking forward to it as a fan! We can get her to see the Buy More as both family friendly and fan-boy owned and operated."

"Great! I'll expect to hear from Solomon tomorrow that dinner was a huge success." Finkelstein said. "Good luck you two." With that, the founder and CEO of Buy More terminated the connection.

Disengaging his headset, Chuck had the grin of a man who had just won the lottery. "Did you hear that, Sarah! We are in the black!"

Sarah turned to her husband with an uncomfortable grin. Her Chuck respected her intelligence, and never let her forget it. That was wonderful, of course … but it also meant that Chuck was often surprised when Sarah encountered a situation or topic she was simply not familiar with. Although Chuck would never mock or become frustrated with her, she never enjoyed admitting to being the class dunce on any matter. Smiling sweetly, she simply asked "What just happened?"

"Ok. There's a new video game coming out. _Barbara Battle Zombie Queller IV: Liberty or Zombies_. It's going to be huge – like lines-out-the-door-huge the way that _Spy Attack_ was supposed to be this time last year. Big big opening on Black Friday."

Sarah nodded. "Okay I'm with you so far."

"Well the woman who plays Barbara Battle in the game is named Jessica McLaws. She's a model, and they animated her for the storytelling scenes in between the action scenes. Essentially she's the star of the game."

"Still with you." Sarah said.

"Ok, well this huge opening was supposed to be at the Beverly Hills Buy More … but they've gotten some bad press last month – this big sexual harassment lawsuit. Now this model, Jessica McLaws is one of those celebs who has a rep for being all sugar and spice and everything nice …kind of Anne Hathaway back when she was making the _Princess Diaries_ movies. Her agent doesn't want her anywhere near Buy More, and wants to do the opening someplace else. Mr. Finkelstein wants us to save the day for Buy More and convince Sol … and more importantly Jessica to move the big opening of the game to _here_. And Sarah, that's huge! The Black Friday crowds off of this, plus Devon's ads, should put the Buy More into the black! It'll save Carmichael Industries as well!"

"This game's really that big?" Sarah asked.

Chuck's eyes widened. His wife's lack of information on pop culture trends always charmed him, but sometimes still surprised him. "You never head of Barbara Battle, Zombie Queller? Even when you were little?"

Sarah patiently shook her head.

"Okay, there was a cartoon in the '80s and '90s about this girl named Barbara Battle. She is to history what Carmen Sandiego is to geogra …."

A blank stare from Sarah informed him that this analogy was useless.

"…never mind. Anyway. Barbara Battle was a straight A history student who ran afoul of a mad scientist, as straight A history students sometimes do. The mad scientist wants to change the world by sending zombies back in time to go kill famous historical people like Thomas Edison or Archimedes or George Washington. Our heroine Barbara has to go back in time to save the target, but also has to blend in to the correct period she's in, and take out the zombie before he can kill Christopher Columbus or whoever. It started out as an educational tool – kids learn history because they have to look up the history of the person who needs to be saved – then they have to know where in the world that person is going to be, so they can take out- or 'quell' is the word they use- the zombie that's stalking the famous person. In fact" Chuck smiled "the game might be right up your ally. It's all about subterfuge, cover identities, and bodyguarding. All you."

Sarah laughed. "Lester told me you'd want the game for Christmas. Ok, ok. I'll get it for you."

Chuck enjoyed seeing his wife smile. With a grin of his own, he said "All we need to do is go to dinner with these two, and convince them that Buy More is a nice, safe, warm family friendly kind of place, and they'll be thrilled to have the opening here. We'll tell them the story about how you and I met, and how I've been a fan of the franchise since I was this high, and we'll slam dunk this. We're having dinner this Friday at Fig &amp; Olive."

Sarah looked uncomfortable. "This Friday?" she sighed. "Chuck, I don't think so. Ellie, one of her friends and I are doing a girls' night, and now we're including Alex. You'd better go to talk to these two alone."

"What? Sarah, no! I really need you for this! Nobody's going to believe the how-I-met-my wonderful-wife story unless you're there." Chuck protested.

"Chuck, it's bad enough that everyone who doesn't know that we're ex-spies thinks that I'm your trophy wife. I really don't want to play that part if I don't have to. And Chuck, our cover story about how we met doesn't do much to change that image. According to the real world, I needed a Nerd Herder's help because I couldn't figure out how a screw works on my cell phone. The blonde joke writes itself. And if it's you, me, the agent, and this Jessica McLaws girl at the table then it's going to be you and her going on and on about the video game, while I sit there like big seat cushion saying nothing. Can't I get pass on this?"

Chuck winced, but Sarah did have a point. The idea of putting her through what to her would be a boring dinner wasn't to Chuck's liking – especially if it meant her missing a girl's night with Ellie. Still Chuck protested feebly. "It really makes us look like a happy couple when we're together. We're a really family friendly looking couple, I think."

Sarah smiled. "Yes we are. So here's what we'll do. We'll accept the invitation, but at the last minute, I'll call in sick. I'll get a horrible flu. And while I'm out with Ellie, I'll send you sick-wife texts the whole time, asking you to pick up this and that from the store, and telling the agent and this model that I really wanted to come. I'll sound like a normal sick wife, and you'll look like husband of the year, for caring for me so much. We'll be putting out the best image possible – an image with realistic sounding details. And then you three can talk about video games until your hearts' content."

Chuck's face looked thoughtful. "That sounds like it could work. Great thinking!" Chuck's face immediately twisted in thought. "Waaaaiiiit a minute. Are you sure you're okay with this? I mean you _are_ sending me off to dinner with a big famous supermodel un-chaperoned. Whatever happened to my slightly-jealous-and-possessive-but-in-a-cute-way wife? You know the last time we encountered a supermodel, things got a little sticky."

Sarah's mouth dropped in surprise at Chuck's taunting. Recovering quickly, she responded "Oh, she hasn't gone away Chuck…. In fact, she's discovered just the cure for watching her husband talk with other women."

"Oh?" Chuck asked with an inquisitive smile.

Sarah placed her hands on Chuck's ink-blotter, and leaned over him in a facsimile of an intimidating stalk. "I'm going to help pick out what you wear, and I'm going to make sure you and I have an hour and a half alone with each other before you go out to dinner. You'll be too drained when you're at dinner, to even _think_ about how hot this supermodel girl is. Besides, I'll be calling you every half hour."

"Ooooh." Chuck purred. He came from around his desk, "I married a brilliant and sexy spy."

"Uh-huh" Sarah purred back "one who makes sure you only have enough room in your life for _one_ brilliant and sexy woman."

Chuck kissed his wife again … this time it was for considerably longer than the perfunctory smooch of a few minutes ago.

"So", Sarah asked, "Was your whole day here trying to get Mr. Finkelstein hooked up?"

"No, there was a lot of paperwork. Something weird though … I got a call from New York. The police are investigating a killing, and I'm guessing it was about someone who worked for the CIA … maybe even worked on the Intersect. He had both my name and Bryce's name in his phone. The cop said his name was Dr. Lewis Penncrest. I don't suppose any of this rings a bell for you?"

Sarah just shrugged and shook her head. "No."

"Sometimes I miss being able to flash." Chuck grumped. Then, sitting back down at his computer, he rattled a few keys. "I guess we ought to call General Beckman just to be safe."

= = = = = = = = = = C=C=C=C=C=C=C = = = = = = = = = = 

**Washington DC  
Office of National Intelligence Director**

_"You … did …. WHAT?!"_

Like most people, Brigadier General Diane Beckman, USAF did not know how or when she would eventually die… but she decided that it'd likely be from a stroke … and that it would likely be on a day when she had to receive news like this.

Her assignment as head of the Intersect project had brought with it its share of days filled with sudden and horrifying news – and she always seemed to receive the news in the same position, at the same desk, and looking at the same computer screen. The job had come with some doozies, that was for sure.

Three years ago there was the news that CIA deputy director Langston Graham, and six of the most promising Intersect candidates had been blown up, courtesy of Fulcrum. That was a bad day.

About a year later was the news that Chuck Bartowski, freed of the intersect for about a day or so, downloaded the Intersect 2.0 into himself, a collection of skills that was meant to go into a real spy. That was a bad day too.

A few months after that came the intelligence that Daniel Shaw had gone rogue – mercifully a swift thinking Chuck and Casey had thwarted him before he could do much damage, and she had learned it after the fact. But still a bad day.

Maybe about 6 months later, she got the unpleasant surprise that Costa Gravas had a nuclear capability. Most unwelcome news.

There simply was no school for learning such worst-case-scenario intelligence, and taking everything in stride. It was almost like learning that a nearby volcano was erupting – If the bad news was for real, a reaction approaching panic _was_ called for.

Now, Beckman was roaring at the smug, leering face of one who was technically junior to her on the chain of command – if only he were constantly and consistently _in_ her chain of command. Agent Clyde Decker's punch-worthy face filled her screen, not flinching in the slightest at the trouble he had likely just caused.

"Sorry, General." Decker said, not sounding even slightly contrite. "The President himself directed me to contain the Grimes Intersect in any way I saw fit…."

"_AND YOU SAW __**THIS**__ AS 'FIT' !?"_ Beckman fairly shrieked. "Was sending a team of assassins after Morgan Grimes not enough for God's sake !?"

Before her sat two folders. Each contained the criminal histories – one lengthy, one not so much- of two individuals who had far too much knowledge of Operation Bartowski and the Intersect to remain outside of CIA detention. And yet now they were.

Decker shrugged. "We needed information on the combat abilities of the Intersect 2.0 now that we had one that was rogue – and talkative. There were only a few ways to do that. Chuck Bartowski no longer had it, so he was useless – more so than usual that is."

"But Hugo Panzer!? Manoosh DePak?" Beckman said incredulously.

"DePak actually _had_ a combat variant of the Intersect. He's one of four people who knows what it's like to be one" Decker justified. "And Panzer's been in two fights against the Intersect, one of which he won. Information from those two on how to confront the Intersect was going to be used to bring down Grimes, in case the assassins failed."

"But to release them!?" Beckaman shouted, feeling her own face turn red. "Agent Decker, do you know what Team Bartowski had to go through to bring these men into custody? And you casually undo it?"

"There was nothing _casual_ about it." Decker said imperiously. "General, have you ever dropped someone into a deep dark hole?" Scoffing, as if he'd just remembered an important detail, he continued. "Of course you have. It's sort of what you do." Rephrasing his question, he asked "Have you ever dropped someone into a deep dark hole, and then learn after the fact that you actually might need them for some valuable information? It's not easy to get cooperation out of people that you've already taken everything away from. You have to make like Santa Claus and offer them something big."

Staring at her screen in a fury, Beckman growled. "Tell me at least you didn't make the same offer to Daniel Shaw."

"No." Decker said. "He still has an active intersect. It… uh… was considered too dangerous."

_At least that was a call he got right._ Beckman glowered to herself. "So what you're saying is that two of the most dangerous criminals that Operation Bartowski put away are now out and about?"

"Panzer and DePak were released from federal custody this morning, although where I won't say." Decker guffawed. "In fact, even they don't know for sure."

"You've got to warn Chuck and Sarah Bartowski and Colonel Casey." Beckman demanded.

Decker's smug grin returned. "Oh, I'm sorry, general. The dispositions of federal prisoners in black-site facilities is classified information. Only people with the right clearances get to know things like that. And the ex-members of ex-Team Bartowski are no longer credentialed. And I'm sure that you'd never violate the Espionage Act by disclosing classified information to a bunch of civilians, now would you?"

Fairly shuddering with impotent rage, Beckman simply says "This was a mistake, Agent Decker"

Decker's smug smile stays put. "Solving the mess of the Grimes Intersect was my call, general. I did what I had to. It's not important that you like my methods." With that, Decker impudently cut the feed.

Beckman considered the bottle of bourbon that she kept in her bottom left drawer. She was just about to open the drawer when her phone rang.

= = = = = = = = = = C=C=C=C=C=C=C = = = = = = = = = =

**Burbank, California**

**Buy More**

"Hi General" Chuck said pleasantly.

"Chuck, what is it?" Beckman asked.

Although she attempted to control her voice, the typically empathic Chuck immediately sensed that something was wrong. "Did I call at a bad time?"

Beckman temporized "Is it ever a good time, Chuck? Or has civilian life made you forgetful?"

"Oh. No, not at all." Chuck briefly smiled, before returning to the serious and somber nature of his call. "General, I got an odd phone call from New York. The police are investigating a murder there, a guy named Dr. Lewis Penncrest. I got the feeling that I would have flashed on the name if I had an Intersect handy. The police found that he had both mine and Bryce Larkin's names on his cell phone."

"Mr. Bartowski, there _is_ no Intersect Project anymore." General Beckman said. "Doctor Penncrest may have helped design the Intersect, but unless he was a client of Carmichael's he's nothing for you to be concerned about. Is there anything else?"

"Oh, no. General. I just thought you'd want to know that the guy died, if you hadn't already." Chuck defended.

"Very considerate of you, Chuck. But yes, I had heard the news."

"Okay, then, General. Thanks again for getting rid of Morgan's Intersect."

"Of course." The general said in dismissal. "And Chuck – you and Sarah be careful out there."

"Oh, don't worry General. We've got a brilliant plan for de-fanging the Viper. We should be in touch with the good news by the end of next weekend." Chuck said cheerily.

"That's good to hear Chuck." Beckman said, biting her lip in frustration. Carmichael Industries was a civilian contractor, and what Decker said was right – they were no longer entitled to classified information on prisoners – or ex-prisoners … even if the first thought of two released prisoners would be to wreak unholy revenge on the Bartowskis. So she ended her call with a simple, heartfelt "Be careful anyway."

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**Elk City, Oklahoma**

To be sure, Hugo Panzer hadn't been expecting warm treatment from the federal guards. The last time he'd encountered federal guards outside of the walls of a black site facility … well, Panzer had won the encounter – and the two guards that hadn't really existed officially then no longer existed biologically, either. Prison guards tended to have long memories and knew how to hold grudges, and so when had been loaded onto the tractor trailer transport a few days ago in California with five guards scowling at him from the other side of bars, Panzer was pretty convinced that this was about to be his last ride.

Then they brought in the runt. It had then been clear to Panzer that whatever this guy was in trouble for, it was a different kind of trouble than he was used to being a part of, and it was unlikely that they'd be slated for the same fate if it were a grisly one. This clown weighed perhaps a dollar twenty soaking wet and in winter clothes. The runt had regarded Panzer with a healthy fear for his size- that was alright, most men did-, and thenceforward quietly kept to his cell, one of two in the trailer part of the truck, while the five guards occupied the otherwise un-allotted space.

The journey lasted for more than two days. Neither convict made any effort to chat up the other, and neither of them tried to chat up the guards. They had been fed military-style MREs on a regular schedule, as the transport drove on, neither man knowing what it would mean when the truck slowed down and stopped.

Eventually, it did just that.

"Cover," the lead guard commanded as both Panzer and the runt were let down the ramp of the truck trailer. Panzer could see that they were in some sort of parking lot of some sort of shopping complex… but it was well after dark, and the stores seemed to be closed. No cars were in the lot.

At the command of the lead guard, the other four all pointed their weapons directly and Hugo Panzer. Panzer, whose impressive size sometimes tempted opponents to think that he was simply dumb muscle, wisely stood still. The lead guard then unsnapped a pocket in his tactical vest … and produced a key. He came and unshackled Panzer, and gathered up the chains and handcuffs. The hardware, of course was still US government property. He, it would seem, no longer was.

The lead guard then did the same fort the runt next to him. The look of confusion on his face told Panzer that he had just as little an idea as to what was going on as himself.

The four guards still had their weapons trained on them when the lead guard disappeared into the truck for a moment, and then reappeared with two new looking gym bags. He threw one down at each of the two men's feet. "Those are your kits. Call them going away presents from Uncle Sam."

Panzer, although confused, knew better than to question his good fortune. The runt wasn't quite as sharp on this. "Really? You mean we're free?" he asked.

"Really" the lead guard said. "Don't' ask me why" he said with a scowl. "Stay out of trouble if you can. If you can't, go rob a bank. And get shot." With that, the team of heavily armed guards filed back into the truck. The diesel engine snarled to life again, and the massive transport departed the lot.

Manoosh DePak immediately recognized the color scheme of the large store they were now looking at the rear of. "That's a Wal-Mart" said he. Noting that one of the traffic management signs on the lot had a distinctive red white and blue shield on it, he took a few more steps towards it.

"Interstate 40" he said, reading the sign. Turning around, he spied another highway sign "and Oklahoma route 34." Pausing to contemplate for a moment he said "We're in Elk City, Oklahoma."

"Hell the hell'd you know that so fast, boy?" Panzer asked in some confusion.

"I drove out to California cross country after I dropped out of MIT." Manoosh began to explain. "That's in Bos-"

"I know where it is." Panzer growled.

"Right. Sorry." Manoosh stammered, not wishing to insult a ex-convict who was at least three times his size – certainly not in a darkened parking lot with no witnesses. "Well when I dropped out of there, I drove cross county. I-40 was a big part of that. And as for where Oklohoma Route 34 hits it … it's called an eidetic memory. Anything that goes into my head, it stays there."

"Huh." Panzer said. "Well three cheers for you. Well Oklahoma means one thing for me. Steaks should be good. And easy to find. I'm finding a late night diner. Do yourself a favor and don't follow me." With that, he slung his gym bag over his shoulder, and began walking across the deserted parking lot.

Calling after him, Manoosh said "Oklahoma means something else to me. Indian Casinos. Blackjack. Do you know how to count cards?"

Panzer simply halted and looked at DePak with an indecipherable, -but not hostile- look on his face.

"Let's find a CVS, and pick up a deck, find the diner, and I can show you how. I don't know how much or how little change they gave in here" he picked up and shook his gym bag. "But more money is always a good thing."

Panzer snorted softly. Partners usually weren't his thing … but there was no denying that they could at times prove useful.

_A/N : Sorry for the longer than usual wait this time. I had to carve out a delightful, delicious layer of fat from this chapter that was a lot of fun to think about and write about … but scarcely moved the story ahead even an inch for all the pages that I had dedicated to it. It's likely to make for a fluffy-cute one-off._


	13. 2011- Long Distance Warning

**Chapter 13**

**Long Distance Warning **

**January 2012  
**

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"**Long Eagle **this is** HighLight. SandPebble **is on the move**."**

"

Copy**. Long Eagle **moving into position**. **ETA two hours**."**

"Long Eagle,

this is **Oscar Bait. **In place**."**

"Copy**, Oscar Bait. Long Eagle **to** Chessboard. **We're a go**.",  
**

"Copy**, Long Eagle. **Be advised that** Black Queen **is on the** Chessboard.** Punch through priority code if it's a premier event.**"**

**" **… … … Copy that**."**

**El Palacio de Hierro**** Department store  
State of Sinaloa, Mexico**

**Municipality of ****Culiacán**

It was true that the city of Culiacan had its own fair share of crime… but it was a concern that Jill Roberts didn't truly need to concern herself with when she went out shopping. That's because Jacobo Segovia took the security of his employees seriously indeed. Mateo, man-mountain that he was, had no difficulty in serving the purpose of bodyguard, and was adept at discouraging any unwanted interaction.

It was just after ten in the morning and Jill was clothes shopping at one of the nicer department stores in town. She had to smile slightly at the terminally bored look Mateo had on his face. Like most men, he had practically zero interest in anything regarding women's apparel. _Men_. She thought to herself. It was quite similar to when she had taken Chuck shopping in the malls near San Francisco and Stanford ten years ago. Oh, sure, he'd be enthusiastic around the video games and comic book shops, but when it came time to buy clothes for him, he had only grudgingly accepted her input, and when it came to her clothes, Chuck had wanted to be anywhere else.

Now with the shoe section occupied only by an elderly woman who clearly needed the attention from the clerk more than she did, Jill served herself with the shoes. At a point when the lady asked the clerk to check on the supply of a certain style, she slid over next to Jill on the bench.

"I do so enjoy the beginning of the year, when the newer fashions come out" the old lady began.

Jill, not particularly interested in starting a lengthy conversation, but not wishing to appear rude, concurred. "My mother once said that women's shoes were not, in fact meant for any real woman, and least of all for me." A pair of black pumps went into the reject pile, not so much for the color, but for the imperfect fit.

"Wise woman" said the old lady. "January and the summertime are my favorite times to visit the department store. The new shoe styles in January, and to escape the depraved heat in the summer" she continued.

Mateo, of course took note of the old donna's loquacious nature in chatting up Jill, but made no mental note beyond that she was old, likely lonely, and talkative. Like Jill, he gave her no further thought.

It was an understandable oversight, looking as the old lady did a meager number of years away from death … but it was an oversight nonetheless.

"Smart way to fight the heat" Jill commented nonchalantly. A set of stiletto heels captured her interest. "Hellllo …. What have we h - oh. Excuse me. You're on my skirt." Jill pointed out to the lady.

"Oh, no. Please forgive." said the lady, as she withdrew her thigh – and hand - from one of the sides of Jill's skirt.

Intent on capturing the lovely shoes that had gotten her attention, Jill didn't focus her attention on anything else.

She gave an only half-hearted wave goodbye when the seemingly sweet old lady said "Well it's been charming to talk with you. Goodbye." With that, the old lady rose on her cane, regarded Jill just long enough to verify that her mission had indeed been accomplished, and shuffled out of the store.

Jill meanwhile was delighted with her stiletto heeled prizes. And Mateo was delighted that she was delighted – it meant the shopping trip was a step closer to completion. Jill was so happy that she didn't think it peculiar when the sales clerk who was waiting on the old lady returned with a box of shoes.

"Madam? Do you know where the lady went?" asked the clerk,

Puzzled, Jill could simply say "I don't know. Maybe she changed her mind about the shoes?"

Outside, by the entrance to the Palacio de Hierro, the old lady … in fact no older than 46 years old, and her appearance enhanced by makeup, made her way to the café across the street. Finding a booth from which she could observe the parking lot, she drew a smartphone – one of two mobile phones she had entered the department store with- and sent a text to a special account. Then she clasped her cane, and softly spoke into the top of it.

"**Long Eagle**, this is **OscarBait**. **SandPebble** is miked up."

"Copy, **Long Eagle** in position in twenty minutes."

Twenty minutes later, after watching the departures from the department store, the lady had occasion to speak again into her cane. "This is **OscarBait**. **SandPebble **is on the move again."

"Copy. **HighLight** standing by to pickup."

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**New York, New York**

**350 5th Ave **

**The Empire State Building**

Henry Reagan moved well enough when armed with his cane, and now two months after the heart attack that put him in the hospital, he made his way to the Empire State Building. He clucked with some delight as this was the first time in his long life that he had visited the structure without his way to the observation deck elevators. For the first time ever in visiting one of New York's most sacrosanct places, Henry Reagan's business was business.

It was closing in on three in the afternoon, when Henry, dressed in a smart, if slightly old fashioned three piece suit shuffled his way through the gorgeous Art Deco lobby. A helpful security guard with more compassion than savvy spoke up. "Oh, good morning sir. Are you looking to buy a ticket for the observation deck? If so the …"

Henry politely held up his hand to cut her off. "Young lady, I'm not here as a tourist. I'm here on business. If you'd like to help me, could you point me towards the elevators that will take me to the Verbanski offices?"

"Oh … well, yes sir." The security guard said. "Metal detector is right there, and the elevators are right beyond. Step this way sir."

Henry already had his police retiree identification out. "I have this, which means I'm allowed to have _this_" he said, pointing down to his ankle, and pulling his slacks leg up. There, snugly holstered about his lower calf was a compact Glock 26.

"Of course sir" With a knowing grin, the guards used a metal detector wand on the former police commissioner, and sent him on his way.

A high speed elevator brought him up to the 67th floor, and on disembarking, he gave a bit of a frowny laugh. For all of its magnificence and iconic importance, the Empire State Building, was after all an office building, where high, low and mid-level office workers came to work every day, all of them with typical office worker thoughts, gripes and habits. _How long does it take to get used to working in a place like this? If I had a window, I'd never get any work done._ Henry wondered.

The giant white-lettering-on-black-background logo of Verbanski Corporation dominated the suite of offices to the right. Identifying himself to the pretty secretary he met, he was told "Oh yes Mr. Reagan. Ms. Verbanski will be right with you."

Henry's wait was not long. Gertrude Verbanski was clearly a woman who believed in making a dramatic entrance, arriving as she did from behind a set of double glass doors that separated the reception area from her main offices. Henry slightly cursed the fact that his days of quickly raising from a sitting position were behind him, as Gertrude was upon him almost before he was up to his full height.

"Commissioner Reagan? Gertrude Verbanski" she said by way of outstretched hand. "Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me. I know you must be busy."

"Oh, you flatter an old, retired cop." Henry said, shambling after her into her office.

Being a CEO surely had its privileges, and Verbanski's New York office reflected that truism. Her office occupied the southeast corner of this floor of the skyscraper, and offered a view of all of lower Manhattan, including the Flatiron building, Trump Tower on Wall Street, NYU, and the under construction One World Trade Center- climbing so fast, that it would soon eclipse the Empire State Building, as the tallest skyscraper in New York.

"Do I?" Gertrude challenged his statement with an empowered smile. She gestured for Henry to take his seat opposite her desk. "So you _haven't_ been courted as a possible consultant by various security companies over the last few weeks?"

"Well, I'm retired … but not lazy" Henry grinned, sitting himself down. Gertrude sat as well. "It's quite an office you've got here."

"Thank you" Gertrude said pleasantly. "My main office and training facility is in California, but with so many of my private security customers in the east coast, I simply had to have an office here. I like to joke that I moved in in 2006 … and King Kong hasn't shown up here since." She allowed a soft smile before continuing. "Now to the point. As you may or may not know," Gertrude began "Verbanski Corp has offices all over North &amp; South America, Europe, and we're expanding into Africa and Asia. The need for security is very much a growth industry."

"I see, so where would someone like me come in to this?" Gesturing to his cane he said "I think it's safe to say my days of passing fitness tests and bodyguarding are pretty much behind me."

Verbanski grinned. "I'm not in the market for foot soldiers. I'm in the market for colonels and brigadiers."

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**Outside of ****Culiacán, **

**Mexico**

Jill contentedly called this shopping trip a success. Two new pairs of shoes and various blouses and skirts were in shopping bags, and were destined for her wardrobe. She was halfheartedly examining the contents of the department store flyer about the next big sale, and wasn't particularly paying attention to the other traffic on the mountain road. Mateo, content that the shopping trip was over, was also only halfway paying attention to the cars on the route. No SUVs were on the road, and their own SUV pretty much dominated every other vehicle on the roadway.

A few dozen yards away from the intersection of the mountain road and the access driveway from Segovia's compound, a utility van worked maintenance on a nearby street light. Or so it seemed. Neither of the workers, one in the driver's seat, and one in the elevated bucket tending to the light, raised their eyes to look at the vehicle when it passed. They didn't even seem to notice, and Mateo, while noting their presence, dismissed them as routine utility workers completing a routine utility task. He didn't even give them an additional glance. It was his second such misjudgment of the day.

As the SUV carrying Jill, Mateo, and the driver turned into the private road to Segovia's compound, the utility worker in the bucket drew a high powered walkie-talkie from his utility belt.

"**Long Eagle**, this is **HighLight**. **SandPebble** is in the compound.

"Copy. **Long Eagle** in position."

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Segovia's compound was flanked by moderate hills on its south end – perhaps a distance of two and a half miles or so from the hacienda. For a dedicated enemy of Segovia –and he had many of those- it wasn't quite close enough to position a sniper.

But it was close enough for a two man team to set up a post and observe, and this is what Seguin and Wilmer were doing. Finding a robust tree on the heavily wooded hill, they used climbing spikes to make their way up the trunk and install a common hunters tree stand, two in fact … one for each of them, with one of them being slightly larger than the other.

Although both were armed with side arms in case they ran into trouble, and extra magazines with reloads in case such trouble was persistent, violence was not the order of this day. And so their most expensive piece of equipment was a telescope. In short order, the device was installed on the larger of the two hunting platforms.

They could hardly have picked a better tree. Larger then it's neighbors, the tree peeked over the canopy that covered the hill, and the positioning of the tree stands allowed both men to peer above the canopy … while still being able to crouch down and remain all but invisible at a distance. They had a clear line of sight to the right rear of Segovia's house.

It was closing in on noon, and with it being a soft, breezy day, it was the perfect time take in lunch on the patio. Clearly so thought Segovia, as he relaxed at an outdoor dining set, served by his house staff, and clad in a white shirt and pants, and his ever present bandanna around his neck. Wilmer and Seguin's telescope was able to get a clear view of the target.

"**Long Eagle** to **Chessboard**. **Red Hand** is on the deck" spoke Seguin into his own radio.

"Copy, **Long Eagle**. Standing by."

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**New York, New York**

**350 5th Ave **

**The Empire State Building**

"I'm a retired Marine, Ms Verbanski" Henry said with a grin … "But I was never a colonel. When I was in the service I _worked_ for a living."

Gertrude laughed a little. "Oh, I wasn't talking about your service aboard the _Oriskany_. I was more interested in your service as the head of an army during time of war. I mean the NYPD and the crack cocaine wars. You're one of the only men on the planet to wage a constant urban war against an enemy as lawless, as well organized and as ruthless the crack dealers of the '80s, and it's due to a lot of your actions … and holding actions against them that this city was able to rebound in the '90s."

Henry got a slightly uncomfortable look in his eyes. "Well, you know Ms. Verbanski … there's a whole lot of men and women with a whole lot of letters behind their names at Columbia up the street, and at NYU behind you and at a hundred more other think-tanks. They get rich and famous debating amongst themselves why New York now is different from the New York in the 80s. I'd be wrong of me – or even the entire police department -to take too much of the credit for it. I'm not even sure I'm entitled to any of it" He allowed a soft indulgent smile "Although I like to think that I am."

"Commissioner Reagan," Verbanski grew a cool, knowing grin on her face as she addressed the ex-commissioner. "I'm not a reporter, and I'm not an expose writer. And I'm not a frightened politician who worries that crediting the police department makes me look bad to one or another demographic. I make no bones, and feel no shame in my belief that in order to bring about security and safety, a lot of asses have to be kicked, and we need plenty of people willing to kick them. Of course there are some people who want their cops to be cuddlier, kinder, and want to give all the bank robbers and sex maniacs a hug, and to say 'pretty please' when asking a bunch of crack pushers to leave a corner. Those people can kiss my stiletto heel. The left one, which is where I keep an _actual_ stiletto. And that is why I'm interested in you. I'm very much in the market for a man who knows what it's like to command a bunch of ass-kickers in an environment that … " she bobbed her head left and right, searching for the right turn of phrase "would benefit from the attention of a bunch of ass-kickers."

"Well…" Henry temporized. "I have caught myself saying that people today need to be a bit less sensitive and let the police do their jobs, and that other people need swift kick in the pants every now and then … but of course that's page one in the _Crotchety Old Man's Handbook_."

Gertrude Verbanski now had the look on her face of a fisherwoman who knew she had her sea bass firmly on the line. "That attitude, I've heard, can be a bit of a problem in the world of politics."

Henry shrugged. "What are you going to do? Everyone gets an opinion"

"True…" Gertrude said, "… in any jurisdiction _beholden_ to public opinion."

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**Outside of ****Culiacán,**

**Mexico**

_**Care to join me for lunch? J.S.**_

Jill couldn't help chuckle at the politeness at her employer's invitation. He could just as easily have made it a command, and Jill was smart enough to know she'd have very little way of saying 'no'.

Still, over the last few months, Segovia had been of his word. She had been teaching classes full of children, and he had never demanded a mission of a drug related nature – nor one of a prurient one, either.

"Mateo, _el jefe_ wants to see me for lunch. Could you drop me off at the hacienda?"

"Si", Mateo – always a man of the few words required to bespeak his few thoughts- responded.

A few minutes later, and through the hacienda, Jill met her boss on the patio, sipping on lemonade. "I thought I'd treat you to lunch, while you tell me how the school is progressing" he said by way of greeting.

"Thank you, _jefe_. Very kind of you." Jill said pleasantly, as she sat down. "I never knew how much I'd enjoy teaching until I came here" he said.

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"That's her." Seguin said to Wilmer. "Looks like a premier event." Quickly and with quite a lot of agility, he offered Wilmer his spot on the tree stand and at the telescope.

"Concur." Wilmer said. Gripping his radio, he said "**Long Eagle** to **Chessboard. RedHand** and **SandPebble** are both on deck. It's a premier event. Code One-One-A-Two-B-Three."

"Copy, **Long Eagle**" came the reply. "Stand by for **Black Queen**."

Seguin's next move was to have Wilmer steady the telescope while he attached a high power video camera with a satellite transmitter to it.

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**New York, New York**

**350 5th Ave **

**The Empire State Building**

Gertrude continued her sales pitch. "As I said, commissioner, Verbanski Corporation provides security for a great many interests around the world. A lot of these locations in Africa, Central and South America, Asia could best be described as "lawless" … and that's the most generous adjective available. "Failed State", "Total Anarchy" "Sandy or Jungle Hell-hole" are other useful descriptors. As you might guess both the demand for top-notch security, and the demands _placed on_ security providers can be quite daunting."

"Well I would imagine …" Henry said.

At that moment, a well-dressed man came into the office behind Henry. Gertrude's eyes widened at the intrusion – a silent demand that the man state his business quickly.

"Ma'am I'm sorry to interrupt, but it's a priority message from Mexico. Culiacan. You said you wanted to …"

"Yes, I know. Thank you" Gertrude said coolly, and then waived the man off by way of dismissal. Returning her attention to Henry she said. "Commissioner, I'm sorry. Usually I have a strict Do Not Disturb policy when it comes to meeting VIPs, but something has come up that requires my immediate attention. I was wondering if you might give me a ten minute break?"

Slightly taken aback, Henry said "oh, uh sure, I suppose."

Smiling in acknowledgement, Gertrude continued. "Jasmine will be able to hook you up with refreshments. I shouldn't be much longer than a few minutes." She tapped a button on her desk, summoning her receptionist. "Jasmine, bring in some coffee for commissioner Reagan. And make sure to tell him about the deli."

The pretty secretary came in with a classy looking coffee service tray, and Henry gladly partook.

By the time the retired police commissioner was mixing in his Sweet&amp;Low, however Gertrude Verbanski had made her way to a restricted staircase that brought her down to the 66th floor.

This was her East Coast operations room, and for the most part it looked a great deal like any other cube farm – office workers shuffled about, typed up reports, and filed. The accounts receivable people invoiced, the accounts payable people minded incoming bills - typical office floor of the Empire State building, with the stunning view that the 66th floor commanded.

An interior room was an entirely different matter. Here, for sensitive and dangerous matters and missions, her most dedicated and capable agents handled difficult jobs, and oversaw them in real time. Verbanski called this room the **Chessboard**, and it functioned not at all differently from NASA's mission control, only more compact. Instead of trenches of bulky computers, most of her crew worked on laptops, and although there was a screen that dominated the room, it was rarely used.

A terminal in the rear of the room was dedicated for her sole use, and the laptop computer in it was already powered up. "What have we got?" Verbanski demanded taking a seat at a blank computer screen, and quickly donning an headset.

"**Long Eagle** reports premier event. **SandPebble** went shopping and got miked up an hour ago. We just got live feed."

"Perfect." Verbanksi said, typing a few keys on her computer. Immediately, the feed from Seguin and Wilmer's telescope mounted video camera filled her screen. There, she recognized the relaxed posture of Jacobo Segovia – a man she knew all too well. Across the table sat Jill Roberts, whom she knew of, but didn't know as well. Verbanski knew that Jill was one of the few surviving Fulcrum agents from three years prior, and her company had given her the sardonic call sign **SandPebble** in mockery of her Fulcrum codename, **SandStorm**. Now with the Agent Formerly Known as **SandStorm** reduced to a fraction of her previous existence and prospects, Gertrude felt the name apropos.

"**LongEagle**, this is **Black Queen**. Confirm **RedHand** and **SandPebble**." Gertrude said, speaking into the microphone in her headset.

"This is **LongEagle**. It's them alright."

"Make the call" Gertrude ordered a technician on her left.

= = = = = = = = = = C=C=C=C=C=C=C = = = = = = = = = =

**Outside of ****Culiacan, **

**Mexico**

"It's actually a lot more fun than I had imagined, and I'm surprised at how much I like the kids. They come up with some really good questions for second graders."

"And they seem to take a liking to yourself, my dear." Segovia smiled. "You're already a favorite amongst both the children and the pare-"…. His complement was cut off by a loud shrill ringing sound.

Jill had noticed it half a second earlier, as a harsh vibrating coming from the pocket of her skirt accompanied the ringing sound. With a bewildered look on her face, Jill withdrew a razor thin- cell phone – one she'd never seen before. With a mortified and confused look, she answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Hello Jill Roberts. This is Gertrude Verbanski. You don't know me, but that doesn't matter. I know you're with Jacobo Segovia right now. Please put me on speaker phone."

"She … … seems to want to talk to both of us." Jill said by way of explanation. Silently she placed the phone at the center of the table. Slightly unsettled, Segovia looked at the phone intently.

"_Senor_ Segovia" Gertrude's electronic-sounding-through-the-phone voice began in a clipped tone. "I'm not much for sending out multiple warnings, so this time will the last time I do it for you. About two months ago, you had one of your men – Hector Vega - contact one of my regional training directors in Mexico, Manuel Andrade, offering him a job. I do not take at all kindly to people of any kind trying to poach my personnel – least of all people like yourself."

Segovia ignored the hostile tone smiled pleasantly, as if Verbanski was sitting across the table from him next to Jill. "_Senora_ Verbanski – I'm hopeful you are not too offended with my trying to court _senor_ Andrade's services. His reputation as one of the best training officers in all of Mexico precedes him. All I wished was to give him an opportunity to supplement his income. Indeed- I did not foresee any conflict of interests on his part. Several hard working men hold more than one job, and I can be very flexible on my hours."

"Senor Segovia" Gertrude's voice came icily. "I went to some expense this morning to have a 5 man team initiate surreptitious contact with your little ex-Fulcrum doxy there, so that I could talk to you. Let that be an indicator of how offended I am. "

Jill's eyes widened as she stood up abruptly. Some of her Fulcrum training- much of which she hadn't used in years- began to flood back to her, including the self-rapprochement that at least one of her instincts had slowed over the time of inactivity. In referring to Jill, Verbanski had pointed out something that had been plain since she had made the phone call – a hostile force had eyes on the patio. She and her boss could indeed be in harm's way.

Gertrude's voice on the phone continued. "Neither Verbanski Corp nor any of its personnel does _any_ business or provide _any_ kind of service for narcotics traffickers or human traffickers. People like you have _no_ privileges to any Verbanski service, much less any Verbanski people."

Segovia noted an increasingly uncomfortable Jill, and silently raised a hand in a calming gesture. Jill responded by pointing to the phone, pointing with two fingers to her own brown eyes, and then gesturing to herself and to Segovia. _She can see us!_

Coolly. Segovia nodded to Jill, and then turned his attention again to the phone. His pleasant grin was gone- he'd endured too many insults to maintain it. "I'm very sorry to find that you're so angry with my attentions to your organizations, _Senora_ Verbanski. I have been a great admirer of your business for a number of years now. I feel there is no need for such unpleasant dramatics. Surely a simply e-mail to myself would have voiced your displeasure at –"

"I'm not Sarah Bartowski." The Verbanski-phone spoke. "If you're under the impression that I'm overly concerned with maintaining a squeaky clean image, or coddling any Boy Scout husband, you should forget it. I play for keeps, just like you do. This is my last warning to you to avoid chatting up any of my employees for any reason. If we ever have any sort of contact again, it won't be for a pleasant little chat like this. And the next time I sneak something into your compound it won't be just a cell phone. Google Agent Clyde Decker for further details. I hope that I won't have to make myself any clearer. Verbanksi out. Oh, and I'd back away from the cell phone if I were you."

The call terminated, and the screen on the razor thin cell phone went dark. In the space of five seconds, a few sparks shot out of the bottom of the phone, a soft sizzling sound was audible, and a soft wisp of smoke escaped from the phone.

Segovia noticed as Jill stared in stony silence at the phone. Her face hardened into a mask of disgust, as if she were looking some sort of vile insect sitting on the table. "Sarah … _Bartowski_?" she hissed, mostly to herself, but not caring if Segovia heard. "He married that CIA whore?"

**New York, New York**

**350 5th Ave **

**The Empire State Building**

Gertrude Verbanski took off her headset and spoke to her operations manager. "Have all the teams back of off Segovia now. Return To Base right away. Have them check in when they're clear of Culiacan, and again when they're RTB. Good work everyone."

Her business here done, Verbanski swiftly rose, replaced her headset on the computer, and found the door to the operations center. Finding the staircase back up to her office, she spied Henry Reagan just about to pour himself one more cup of coffee. Gertrude smiled at the elderly gentleman's old-school manners – he rose when she entered the room, as a classically trained gentleman would for a lady.

"Thank you so much for your patience. That shouldn't happen again." Gertrude said pleasantly.

"Oh, not at all." Henry said pleasantly. "I was just about to have another coffee."

"Java Spell" she noted, "My favorite. I discovered it when I was in Jakarta a few years ago" she took her seat opposite Henry. "Indonesia's a beautiful place now. Even after the tsunami. It wasn't always. Which brings me back to how I can use a man like you."

Henry put down his coffee cup, his interest piqued.

"I have personal and corporate security teams operating in every continent except Antarctica" Gertrude said. "Some of these places are so decrepit that ours – as well as other- private security teams are the only examples of law and order in some places. Ideally they'd only be interested in defensive security and body guarding … as they would in this country … as in finding the threat and turn them over to local authorities. But when there are no local authorities, some of my teams need to become a bit more … proactive. Finding threats and neutralizing them before they can bring harm to any of our clients, or any innocent people in range of our clients."

Henry frowned. He didn't think he liked exactly where this conversation seemed to be headed. "Ms. Verbanski, forgive me… but you described these areas of lawless states… meaning that there is no reliable authority to turn these … threats … over to. When you mean 'neutralize' … you mean …"

"I mean exactly what you think." Verbanski said. "Kidnappers, extortionists, terrorist bombers, any groups that want to cause harm … the need for security is great. The need for things like defense lawyers, parole boards, criminal rights groups and the exclusionary rule is… not great."

"Miss Verbanski … wouldn't that make the difference between Verbanski Corp and the private armies run by local warlords hard to explain to an outsider?" Henry challenged politely.

Gertrude smiled patiently. "An outsider" she said "_would_ have to listen very carefully to the differences. I take comfort and pride in the fact that my agents, while proactive and aggressive, do not target innocent civilians, and have the luxury of paying-and paying well for information on threats. We don't engage in the kind of unsavory behavior that our local rivals do."

With a knowing grin, Henry said "because you can afford not to."

Verbanski countered with another smile of her own "People, it turns out, do like money. And on that note, I'd be interested on having you aboard as a consultant on how to develop contacts and informants in such a hostile environment, and would look forward to hearing of your more effective police tactics in neighborhood pacification … things that might not be permitted now, but proved effective during the 80s. You'd be able to work effectively in improving an entire area of the map. And make a decent amount doing it, as well."

Henry finished his coffee and chose his words deliberately. "Ms. Verbanski, I'll be the first to admit that politicians, and the limits they place on police power can be a royal pain in the kiester. Sometimes they're just plain wrong. But I've always held that when you send a young kid to either boot camp or a police academy, and arm him, literally give him the power of life and death over others – then he needs to know that he has the backing of a lawful government behind him when he's out there on the field or in the street. A young man or woman given that much responsibility needs to know that he's part of something bigger and more timeless than himself. This nation building – a private corporation becoming a private government isn't something I think I'm comfortable with. I may not be your guy for this."

Henry was half expecting the hard sell, or an aggressive pitch on pay and benefits. Instead, Gertrude Verbanski simply smiled softly and said, "If the entire concept of working in an environment that has no law doesn't appeal to you, then it's possible that this isn't as good a fit as I thought it might be."

"I hope you don't think this was as waste of time. I enjoyed finding out a little about how you work." Henry said, rising to leave.

"Commissioner, in the intelligence business, finding the measure of someone is never a waste of time." Verbanski said, also raising with a pleasant, professional smile. "Special guests with Verbanski Corp get discounts to see the observation deck of the building. Make sure to see Jasmine on your way out."

Henry smiled. "Thanks but I'm born and raised in New York. I've been there more times than I can count. Good afternoon, Ms Verbanski"

As Henry left, and passed by Jasmine's desk, a burst of sunlight through the window made him reconsider. It was quite a pretty day here in New York, and no matter how many time's one's seen the observation deck of the Empire State Building, the view on a gorgeous afternoon was hard to beat.

= = = = = = = = = = C=BB=C=BB=C=BB=C = = = = = = = = = =

**Outside of ****Culiacan, **

**Mexico**

After the termination of the phone call, Segovia's first move was to draw his own cell phone and send a text to Hector, asking him to join them on the patio.

"I'm sorry _jefe_" Jill apologized, much of her Fulcrum spy training coming back to her. "That old bat who chatted me up at the department store must have been working for Verbanski." She stared at the smoldering phone in disgust, anger and self-reproach. How had she allowed herself to be so careless?

For someone who could have been endangered by her sloppiness, Segovia was remarkably composed. "_Seniora_ Verbanski is well admired in the security and intelligence world. As we saw, her reputation is hers for a reason."

Hector arrived in short order "I was about to tell you at dinner" he said. There's news about our old friend Commandant Diaz in the federal district."

Not wanting to get sidetracked Segovia held up his hand for silence, and then he quizzed Jill. "Who is this Sarah Bartowski of which she spoke?"

"It's been two years since I've seen her." Jill began. "But she's a CIA agent. She's very good at what she does, and she was assigned to protect a man I was once involved with. A guy named Chuck Bartowski."

"This was when you were with Fulcrum?" Segovia asked.

Jill nodded. "Most of Fulcrum's energies were directed at securing a computer called The Intersect- a very powerful computer that pretty much contained all of the information available to the CIA and NSA. We didn't know where it was or what its specifications were. One CIA agent did, a man named Bryce Larkin. Fulcrum tasked him with retrieving it, but he destroyed it instead and kept the files for himself, or sent them somewhere. Bryce and Chuck were college roommates. Chuck was a computer genius who shouldn't have been involved in government work, certainly not spy trade. But apparently Bryce got to him somehow. Either he had Chuck fix the computer or had him disperse or encrypt the files or something. Whatever he did Chuck was apparently important enough to have two agents handling him, including Sarah Walker. "

Jill's face once more twisted in disgust. "I guess it's no surprise that he had CIA protection, but the female agent they assigned him was a combat trained infiltrator/ seductress. By the time I saw Chuck again and met her, she already had him eating out of her claw."

Segovia was thoughtful, and shared a glance with Hector. "Imagine, a computer powerful enough to contain all the information the _nortamericanos_ have. On everything!"

"Xavier would consider it Christmas morning" Hector allowed. "all the information on interdiction efforts … the identities of their operatives- not just the ones detailed to oppose us, but everywhere in the world… Information that other countries have shared with the US. Including our own."

"You knew a man who was involved with this device?" Segovia asked, impressed.

Jill smiled ruefully. "I knew two men. Bryce and Chuck. Bryce Larkin most certainly knows about it. Chuck is … or was involved with it in some way, but I don't know how. But he was brilliant. An excellent problem solver. It makes sense that the CIA would use him to fix whatever bugs in it they could find. I was only tasked to find Bryce and the Intersect computer – I was never really briefed on how it worked." Jill's face acquired a thoughtful look. "Come to think of it, not many people who know a lot about the Intersect seem to last long. They either end up in jail or dead. I don't suppose you know how to get your hands on any US federal prisoners from the inside."

It was Hector who responded. "As circumstance would have it, there was a report one or two months ago. Two individuals came from up north at Acuna. I have contacts in the Acuna police who took note. Typically, when people come south from the US without a good deal of luggage, it's to escape the law."

"I've heard." Jill said, with a pinch of sarcasm. "What are they? Regular smugglers, murderers? What?"

"We do not yet know. Returning to the topic of Commandant Diaz" Hector said. "He is apparently on the small list for promotion to the head of police in the Federal District" he said. "Xavier read in this morning's internet news."

Segovia pursed his lips thoughtfully. "That will make infiltrations into that department more problematic."

Jill nodded. "Diaz has a reputation for being incorruptible. He inspires others like him. If you have a lot of … sources in the police, they're going to find it awfully hot."

"And, my dear" Segovia challenged to Jill. "If you were to have someone insinuate themselves into the police department now, knowing that, how would you proceed?

The answers poured forth from Jill as if she were reading from a textbook. "The officers themselves will be on the lookout for people offering money, so don't go spreading money around. You'd need subtlety. I'd find their informants, and attempt to turn them. That can provide some limited information, depending on how much officers themselves confide in their informants. Which won't be much but it's better than nothing. Other people who regularly interact with officers would be the next target, such as food and news vendors. That's risky, as some might be loyal to the officers they work with, and others not.

"For intel on the officers, you might try disgruntled neighbors. Almost any man is bound to rub some people the wrong way. The women in the lives of some of them could be useful, you might need female sources of intel. They can make friends with the women who are close to these men, and perhaps even get close to some of the men themselves. That won't be as easy as it sounds – most police and fire men that I've met have no shortage of women trying to get their attention."

Segovia allowed a confident smile to part his face. It was indeed thrilling to watch this woman slip into the mode of intelligence gatherer. Not many men in his position could boast such an asset as a Fulcrum trained operative on their payroll. Perhaps influence over the federal police was not so distant a dream after all. Perhaps even international boundaries were not the obstacle others dreamed them to be.

"My dear," he began. "less than a year ago I believed your talents were underused at the Wienerlicious. Is it possible that your talents are underused at the school as well? I am _entirely_ confident that Seniors Vega and Duque could put your skills to good use in intelligence gathering."

Jill closed her eyes and thought for a moment. No matter the circumstances, it was a thrill to be appreciated for her very real skills, and her moral hang-ups at putting her skills to the service of Segovia were surprisingly easy to cast aside. _Two and half years of hiding, cut off from family and friends can do that to a girl _she thought with a sigh.

A cool, confident smile played across Jill's face. "I've been out of the game for awhile. I'll need 24/7 access to the internet via a secure server, access to Mr Vega and Duque's intelligence assets in Mexico …and access to a gym."

Segovia's grin grew wider. "All _very_ easily done", he said, delighted. With Jill's enthusiasm for her old vocation, the future of business was looking bright indeed.

_**A/N**__ Season 5 of Chuck also gave us Gertrude Verbanski. I honestly would have been thrilled to death if they had introduced her earlier, as a not-quite good guy and not-quite bad guy for the team to contend with, as well as someone with serious chemistry with Casey. An unasked and unanswered question is "Where does Gertrude rank in Casey's heart next to Ilsa Trinchina from "Undercover Lover"?._

_Chuck and Sarah only had to go on the run for about one episode –in Chuck vs. The Curse. Thus, despite the fact that Gertrude doesn't come back until "Chuck vs the Kept Man", I'll assume that Gertrude was able to re-establish her business in relatively short order._

_Gertrude by the way, does not necessarily reflect my beliefs … and I'm sorry if I had her get a little preachy, but I feel her attitude and politics is very much in line with the hard-nosed ex-KGB spy we were introduced to. She's a no-nonsense lady, and it's no stretch of my imagination to see her as quite an authoritarian._


	14. 2012- Rivers and Roads to Recovery

**Chapter 14**

**Rivers &amp; Roads to Recovery**

**January 2012**

**Santa Monica, CA**

**The Beach**

_Rivers and roads,  
Rivers and roads_

_Rivers 'till I reach you._

_Rivers and roads_

_Oh, rivers and roads_  
_Oh rivers 'till I reach you_

_Rivers and roads_

_Rivers and roads_

_Rivers 'till I reach you._

The tale had been fantastic, funny and frightening, It had been ridiculous and romantic, heroic, horrifying and hilarious. It had been unlikely … and yet all made an absurd sort of sense.

No longer was Sarah the professional, cold blooded spy on a perpetual mission seek out and destroy enemies of her nation, to acquire vital intelligence and prevent rogue nations from doing the same. Now, it seemed, she was an ex-spy, out of the game for almost a year, and a married woman for just as long. Married to …

Who was this man sitting beside her, relating to her their story? It was impossible for her to know for sure - it was impossible for her to even know for sure who _she_ was.

It would involve a calculated risk to trust Chuck Bartowski – to believe that he was telling the truth. If he was a liar, he was a very very good one. And yet there was something about his sad, wet brown eyes that promised that sincerity made a home in them. He was clearly courageous and resourceful as well as caring and warm. It required little in the way of imagination to grasp that, the CIA would have been interested in his services, despite his presentation. It required less imagination to understand that he would – without too much trouble charm a woman who spent considerable time around him. Although he lacked the easy, devil-may-care charm that most male spies seemed to possess he had a more time consuming, sincere sort of charm that seemed to engage everyone he met.

Believing herself as the woman that would fall for him was the hardest leap of all ... or was it? Every exploit of hers at that Chuck related in their five-year saga sounded oddly in character for her. She had been secretive and protective, angered by his naivety, stubbornness and immaturity, but impressed by his ingenuity and intelligence … and also by the easy, effortless seeming way he commanded the loyalty off seemingly everyone near him. At least so went his story.

John Casey, the cold-blooded, burnt out NSA killer vouched for him? John Casey was some sort of romantic at heart? It had been he that had given her her video log of her recording her thoughts about this Chuck Bartowski. Slowly, it seemed, but inexorably, she had grown closer and closer to his mark until she had fallen completely in love with him. Casey apparently had seen it over the years, and wanted her to remember it.

Ellie and Devon, the sister and the brother in law, were completely devoted to him, not only to him, but to the idea of _them._ Sarah had to admit that she had been impressed that the emergency room doc had had the sand to protect her brother by crashing the car while Sarah had held her at gunpoint. While that was impressive enough, Ellie seemed to be completely aware of who and what Sarah was – or was supposed to be- as she challenged her, she had very much known she was taking her life in her own hands, and did it without a thought.

And then there was Morgan, the buffoonish bearded clown who nonetheless delivered when needed. No spy by a long shot, but loyal and effective in the right circumstances. He too had been convinced that Chuck and she belonged together.

Incredibly, this nonsense made sense. Sarah found herself smiling and at peace at hearing what was in all likelihood the truth.

"You know Morgan" Chuck said hesitantly, "has this crazy idea."

"What is it?" Sarah asked. By this point there were no ideas that were crazier than the story Chuck had just spent an hour relating.

Chuck 's hesitant, awkward smile persisted. In spite of how desperate he currently was, or how hopeful and cheery he always was, Morgan's plan was the overly hopeful dreaming of a child. "He thinks that, with one kiss, you'll remember everything."

Of course he did. Sarah laughed a little at the idea. "One magical kiss?"

"I know, it's …" It was a long shot, a hopelessly idealistic plan. It was practically built of wishful thinking, and an absurd confidence that enough things would go right in the correct order for this to bear fruit. The notion hinged on the idea of Chuck getting this woman who now saw him as a stranger to allow him to kiss her, and then relied on whatever impulses and electric pathways were in Sarah's brain working out the rest.

"Chuck?" Sarah said, already at peace with how crazed the idea was, and needing no further elaboration from Chuck on the matter. Despite everything, she had made up her mind.

"Yeah?" Chuck asked.

"Kiss me." Sarah's look wasn't overly hopeful, but it was peaceful and confident. Chuck couldn't help a smile. Two wonderful moments of his life came flooding back to him. One was when Sue Bently in high school looked at him with confident daring eyes, inviting him in for the first kiss of his romantic life. The second was when Sarah Walker, the empress of his romantic life smiled and told him that she indeed was in love with him, two years ago.

Gently cupping Sarah's head in his hand he brought his lips to hers, As happy as he was at Sarah's leap of faith in trying Morgan's idea, he quieted the intellectual part of him that was genuinely curious as to whether or not this was going to work. Win or lose, each blessed moment with Sarah Walker was amazing.

The kiss lasted long enough for both to lose their breaths. Morgan had been wrong. She didn't remember everything… but she did remember. Images of various places and locations flashed through her head. The docks at the Los Angeles harbor at night near this large box … Chuck's bedroom … the kitchen of Roan Montgomery … a dingy hotel somewhere in the desert … Chuck's kitchen, very near the floor … a magnificent hotel room in Paris … atop the Eiffel Tower… a cramped yet magnificently warm train compartment … the spy base in Castle… a moonlight bathed balcony overlooking a magnificent vineyard, … the grungy floor of a hospital….vague images of these and a half dozen more other places sped through her mind at the speed of imagination.

The kiss broke with their lips making an audible smack, one they could hear over the gentle rush of the Pacific waves a few dozen yards distant. With a soft gasp, Sarah leaned her forehead into Chuck's. "Oh!" she said softly. "…wow"

"Are you ok?" Chuck wanted to know.

"Yeah," Sarah breathed. She pulled back and gazed into Chuck's affectionate, concerned eyes. The miracle he had been hoping for – the complete return of her memory- hadn't happened. But memories of the many, _many _kisses they had shared over the last five years had broken loose, loose enough that Sarah knew and felt an odd sort of confidence that there were many more such memories in there. There had to be.

She shook her head softly and gave a small smile. "I don't remember everything Chuck…. But I just remembered some things just now." Affectionately she brought her hand up and around the side and back of Chuck's neck, pulling him in to her. Finding his ear with her lips she whispered "We kissed a _lot_, didn't we?"

Chuck laughed a little and perked up ever so slightly. "We did! Yes we did!" involuntarily, he gathered Sarah in his arms for a hug.

She allowed it, although she was less overjoyed that he was. She pulled back slightly to look at his face again. "Chuck …. I want to find her. The real Sarah. Your Sarah. If she's in here somewhere, I want to find her again. For you. For us."

"Okay. Great idea!" Chuck look as if he were about to weep with joy. "I'm not how to go about it though… what do we do next?"

Sarah gently stroked Chuck's face. "_We_ don't do anything, Chuck. _I_ have to go." In response to the look of panicked horror that attacked his face, she continued "I'm coming back though. I'll come back when I have a plan. There are some people I need to talk to first. Will you be here when I come back? Wait for me?"

His response was immediate. "I'd wait forever for you, Sarah."

= = = = = = = = = = C=C=C=C=C=C=C = = = = = = = = = =

**New York City, New York  
Manhattan  
**

**The Mink Lair  
**

"_And let's give it up for Nanikeet, the nubile from the North!"_

By the end of her performance, what was left of Carina's Eskimo wardrobe consisted of an ultra-skimpy fur lined bikini thong, a fury repurposed oven mitt that made for a passible arctic mitten, a facsimile single walrus tusk necklace and a good deal of glitter and white makeup. Of it all, it was the walrus tusk that was the most important, as it held her transmitter powered by a AAA battery that she could use to communicate with the rest of her team. The rest of it, her parka, goggles, scarf, cape, leggings, and bikini top were scattered hither and yon about the stage. These she gathered up along with her money before heading backstage.

The assignment had so far been so ponderous that Carina felt like the least productive agent in the DEA. At the same time, she felt like she was one of the wealthiest, as part of her cover involved hanging onto the tips thrown at her by the men patronizing the Mink Lair. Noble Sanfino was proving to be a crafty quarry. Low level drug buys had been set up, but of course her team had been unable to swoop in and follow up on every buy, for fear of broadcasting that the Mink Lair had been infiltrated. Both she and her bosses were becoming frustrated.

The informant, Katie May, had been as helpful as she could, but because of bad blood between her and her manager wasn't as privy to some of the discussions with the other girls as she had once been. The result was that this assignment was dragging on. They were now on month 7.

In the backstage dressing / locker room Katie May came up to her with an excited look. "I overheard in the girls' room that some more girls are coming in next week. They might be here against their will, and Nicos might be looking for some more drugs to keep the girls … docile."

"It could mean a big shipment," Carina said, interested. "Any word on if Noble will be there?"

Katie May looked confused "Who cares about the drugs? Isn't it worse if these girls are kidnapped?"

"Heh." Carina grumbled. "That would make it an FBI beef. If we find evidence of that, then we send it on up the food chain, but then it becomes an FBI party, not our own."

Carina dressed in her civvies and left via the stage for her post-shift debriefing at a safe house two blocks distant. While on the way there, her cell phone chirped. She retrieved the phone, and looked at the text message.

**C. Bartowski: SOS Sarah ! SOS Sarah! She's in trouble. Need both you and Zondra here in Burbank when you can get here.**

Her phone then rang with an incoming call. "Yeah hi, Z." Carina said by way of answer. "Yeah I got it too."

= = = = = = = = = = C=C=C=C=C=C=C = = = = = = = = =

**Washington DC  
Office of National Intelligence Director  
(1 week later)**

"I'm very happy you came to see me, Sarah." General Diane Beckman said in a voice that came about as closes as she could muster to genuine sympathy. "With your record and service to the CIA, just about any assignment you could ask for is on the table."

Sarah sat at in front of Beckman's large desk, the castle building of the Smithsonian Institute and a small part of the National Mall in view out of her office window. Beckman for once, did not have her computer open and active, and was given her erstwhile operative her undivided attention.

"Thank you, general," Sarah said "But I don't know if coming back to the CIA is what I really want. I actually have fairly good idea of what I want, but I'm not sure of the best way to go about it."

"What do you want?" Beckman asked.

"First I want you to answer a question. One I'm sure I already know the answer to, but I'd like to hear it from you. What Chuck Bartowski and I had was real wasn't it? He really is my husband, isn't he?"

Beckman gave a tired, slightly amused smile. "Oh yes. Very real. All too real, I often believed."

"He started off as a mark,- and I just fell for him?" Sarah asked, shaking her head slightly. "There's got to be more to it than that. I remember being good at what I did."

"Oh there's more to it than that alright Sarah. It was all right there in the baggage that yourself and Mr. Bartowski brought to the table." She gave a slight shrug. "Our trouble was that nobody really looked closely enough at either yours or his baggage."

"Really?" Sarah asked, intrigued.

"Sarah, if someone were a recovering alcoholic, do you think it would be wise to have them move into an apartment right above a liquor store? Or take a job as the night watchman of a liquor store?" Beckman asked

"Of course not." Sarah said.

"Of course not.". Beckman agreed. "Sarah, your background was very typical for field agent recruits. No close ties to family, no serious romantic relationships, and no close friends. Very much a lone wolf, and ideal for assignments where you get close to men, get what you need from them, and then burn them. That's what your assignment to Chuck Bartowski was _supposed_ to be. What we didn't expect was for Operation Bartowski to become an ongoing affair, and we didn't respect enough the toll it would take on you. We sent an alcoholic to babysit a liquor store."

"I'm the alcoholic in the scenario?" Sarah asked.

"We're all alcoholics." Beckman informed "Everyone in the spy business is, sometimes literally. What took us by surprise was how much of a liquor store Chuck Bartowski was to you."

"How so?"

"Sarah, when we assigned you a cover identity as Chuck Bartowski's girlfriend, for some reason it didn't dawn on anybody- least of all Langston Graham- that we supplying you with a boyfriend unlike any you'd ever had before. Ellie became the sister you never had before, and Devon the brother you never had before. These situations are rare in our line of work, because let's face it, most people who become government assets don't have Chuck's style of doing things."

"So I went native." Sarah said.

"With a capital _N_." Beckman informed. "None of us wanted to see it or admit to it, least of all myself. And the results of Operation Bartowski inspired us to turn a blind eye to your-and his unprofessionalism."

"I'm beginning to remember things" Sarah said, slightly interested in changing the subject. "Not everything, or even most of everything. But a few things … images … memories started to shake loose. I actually think I was happy when I was with him."

Again Beckman gave a smile that bordered on condescension, so obvious to her were the words of her retort. "Yes, you were. It's so obvious now, that it's humiliating to me to be reminded that alarm bells didn't go off left and right. Sarah, romantic relationships are difficult even in the best of environments, even more difficult when careers that involve odd hours and danger are involved, and practically impossible when those careers are based on deceit and cover identities. The first day you met Chuck, you were supposed to have all the advantages. And you did. But then we decided to keep the two of you together, and that's when you started learning about Thanksgiving dinners, family birthdays, weddings, and all those other things that good little housewives do with their husbands. It didn't help that Chuck Bartowski was very good at it, as well, and was pretty much raised to want the whole family life thing. And with a powerful woman like yourself, so much the better. Ellie Bartowski gave him a good schooling in dealing with strong women. He works well with them, and doesn't feel the need to compete with or control them."

"Sounds like I kind of let the country down when I fell for him," Sarah said.

"Or we did when we assigned you to him." Beckman said, giving a sharp brief laugh through her nose. "At the time all we cared about was that he had the Intersect, and you were able to influence him. Nobody worried about the influence he'd have over you." Throwing her hands up in a shrug she said "And that's the story of how the CIA became the world's most expensive taxpayer funded matchmaking service, with you and Chuck as one of our only success stories."

Sarah smiled. "That's about what I expected. I guess that became my real life. Which brings me to my next question."

"Which is?"

"If I understand correctly, most of the people who know the about the Intersect project are either dead or behind bars. Especially people who know about the damage it can do to someone's memory. I think that if anyone has information on what can help fix me, it'd be them. Is there anyone left?" Sarah asked.

A calculating smile crossed General Diane Beckman's face. "Oh yes. I can think of one. He's rotting away down at Atlanta Fed right now, in fact," she informed, referring to the United States Penitentiary, Atlanta. "He's having a hard time making friends down there because there's something of language barrier. He might be able to shed some light on how much work you need to recover. "

"I'd like to talk to him, if that's possible. I'm sure he could pencil me into his busy schedule."

General Beckman lifted the handset from her phone. "How does tonight after dinner sound?"

Sarah blinked twice. General Beckman was a woman who could get things done, this was known … but still that counted as fast.

"Sounds great!" she blurted out.

Beckmen held out a finger for silence as she spoke into the phone. "Yes hello this is General Beckman. I'd like a car downstairs for myself and Mrs. Bartowski in fifteen minutes, and I want Andrewsto begin the preflight on whichever Chariot is there. I'll be there within the hour."

Returning her attention to Sarah, Beckman continued with a shrug of her shoulder boards. "These stars do come in handy at times. We'll make arraignments with Atlanta Fed from the plane. I have to confess that I'm looking forward to this. You've met this prisoner before, but things being what they are, you won't remember him."

"Do you think he'll remember me?" Sarah asked, uncertain of the details of her encounter with this prisoner.

"Oh, he'll remember you."

= = = = = = = = = = C=C=C=C=C=C=C = = = = = = = = = =

**Atlanta GA**

**United States Penitentiary**

**(later that evening)**

Clad in her skirt suit, Sarah cut very much the businesslike, professional figure. If she had been armed with a briefcase, she'd have been almost indistinguishable from any of the female ADAs and defense lawyers who had shuttled in that day, where it not for the fact that she'd be among the better looking of them, was coming in at an odd hour of the evening, and was accompanied by a one star US Air Force general.

The prisoner was already seated at a desk in the prison's interview room, wearing the Day-Glo orange jump suit common amongst prisoners. From the one-way window, Sarah and Beckman could see that he had a look of confusion on his face. It was quite irregular for federal prisoners to receive visitors at so late an hour.

"Just remember" Beckman advised, "even though we're the ones who want something from him, you'll probably be the one holding all the cards. Use that."

The buzzer alarm sounded once, and the locks on the interview room door clicked, allowing the two women to enter the interview room.

At the sight of Sarah (Walker) Bartowski entering the room and approaching, the prisoner's eyes grew wide with panic.

"Good evening _Herr Docktor_," General Beckman said with a faux pleasantness that even the naivest would recognize as artificial. "I hope you enjoyed your supper."

The prisoner leapt from his chair in terror and backed into the far corner of the interview room. In English thickly larded with a German accent, he accused in despair "I know you! You are Agent _Valker_!" To general Beckman he whined "You! You have brought _her_ here to kill me! I _svear_ I have told your people every-_zing_ I know! I can tell you no-_ting_ more!"

Sarah made sure to mask her surprise at the violent reaction the prisoner had to her. One of the first principles of interrogation was to acquire information from the suspect/asset while divulging little to none, and Sarah didn't want him to know that she was the planned beneficiary of any information he had.

Sarah folded her arms and cocked her hip, as if she were a stern mother or big sister scolding an unruly pre-teen. "Doctor Mueller, if I had wanted you dead, I wouldn't have come in the front door, and you wouldn't have had time to realize what was happening. You'd just be dead."

Beckman gestured to the table in the center of the conference. "I thought the three of us might chat."

Still not entirely sure of his safety, but grasping a certain logic in Sarah's words, Dr. Mueller nervously took his own seat opposite. "But I have told you of all my dealings _mit_ Herr DeSmet many months ago."

"We're not here about Mr. DeSmet." Beckman informed. "We're here about somebody else who was attempting to acquire The Intersect."

Sarah took over, gender flipping her pronouns in an attempt to hide her affliction "There was a man named Nicholas Quinn. He found out that someone had been uploaded with an imperfect variant of The Intersect, where accessing information on the Intersect causes memory loss. Quinn deliberately caused this person to access the Intersect time and again, erasing all of his memories for the last five years, and taking him back to a point before he met his currant partners. He remembers his early life, his earlier friends and his earlier experiences, but not anything that happened within the last five years."

Dr. Mueller frowned and furrowed his brows. "_Zis_ person is still alive, and misses only the memories of the last five years?" At two nods from the two women in the room, he shook his head. "_Zis_ hardly seems possible. Temporary memory loss _iz_ common enough _mit_ any neurological manipulation, but should be no more severe _zen_ a case of absentmindedness. The memories should return on their own or, if not, with simple reminders. It should be no more problematic or permanent then forgetting the name of a close friend's child or spouse. Embarrassing, but temporary."

Beckman leaned over and whispered into Sarah's ear. "Before you lost the last five years, you did forget Alex's name. Casey's Alex."

Sarah sucked in a breath and began again. "What happened was a lot more severe than absentmindedness. This person lost 5 whole years. How would someone go about recapturing those memories?"

Mueller again shook his head. "_Vat_ you are _dezcribing_ is _zimply_ not possible. Nobody could _zimply_ erase 5 years _vorth_ of life experiences. _Ze _human brain _iz_ not a file cabinet or a document explorer on a computer, where information _iz_ stored chronologically. No neurosurgeon could take a brain, _und_ _zen_ delete all of _tze_ memories from 2012, _tzen_ 2011, _tzen_ 2010 _und_ so on, _vile_ being careful to leave untargeted memories intact. No, not even if the person was being victimized by a damaged Intersect."

Sarah was now getting heated, and her self-control was starting to break. "And yet that's exactly what happened" she snarled.

Dr. Muller responded with equal heat and stubbornness. Clearly somewhere under his mad scientist credentials was a knowledgeable neurologist who, in a happier timeline would have been a university professor or successful hospital board member. "No! _Zat_ is **not** exactly _vat_ happened. It just seems so! Your patient did not so much lose five years of their memories as much as they suppressed the memory of _zomzing_ they did, or _zomzing_ they had, or _zomeplace _they _vere_, or _zomeone_ they were with for five years!"

Mueller leaned back in his chair in frustration and paused as if he were a professor trying to explain something to a class full of slow students. "Memories are grouped and organized and accessed in de brain according to other criteria then date. If you _vere_ to put your favorite food in front of you right now, you _vould_ remember the last time you had it. And be reminded of the time before, and the time before, and so on, back to your childhood. Now, you _vould_ not be immediately reminded of everything else that happened on the same day as the last time you had your favorite food, because not all of the things you did or saw on that day would be as remarkable or noteworthy."

Grasping at what he thought was a better example, Mueller expounded "If I wanted to suppress _der_ General's memories over the last few years, I would not be able to simply erase the years I wanted her to forget, I'd have to focus on something to suppress, something that was with her or part of her during that time, like…" Mueller looked hard at her shoulder. "_ze_ star on her _Luftwaffe_ uniform. Suppressing the memories of that artifact _vould_ likely suppress the memories of every day she wore it, going back to ze first day she became _Luftgeneral_, and ze last day she was _oberst_. The effect would be suppression of several years, but not because a concept as abstract as time was targeted for suppression."

Sarah's anger had faded and was now replaced with a faint hope- one that hinged on Mueller's choice of vocabulary. "You keep using the word 'suppressed'. You don't mean 'deleted' or 'erased'?"

Mueller scoffed. "Agent _Valker_, there is only _von_ way to be confident that a person's brain no longer holds memories. Shoot _zem_ in _ze_ head. _Zere_ is no such thing as reliable memory deletion _mit_ a living subject. Only suppression. As long as a patient is alive and healthy, _ze_ brain contains information that it received. It does not truly lose it. Even _mit_ patients _mit_ der Alzheimer's disease, _und_ dementia their memories come _und_ go as their condition worsens. The brain never truly loses the information until literally the day it dies."

"So the missing five years…" Sarah demanded Mueller continue.

"_Ze_ subject has suppressed memories not of the five years but of something they were doing in those five years. A place they were at, an auto they drove, a child they had. It could be anything. Anything that is, that those five years had in common."

The realization immediately dawned on both women. Beneath the table, Beckman's right hand grabbed Sarah's elbow.

"Dr. Mueller, what could counteract the suppression?"

"If available, exposure to the artifact being suppressed. The entire concept of the human brain recognizing people places _und_ things is based on the very simple concept that your brain categorizes based on sensory input. _Ven_ it receives a stimulus; it'll search itself for memories of when it received similar stimuli. Subconsciously, the brain will try to piece together the circumstances that the artifact must have attendant to it. If the artifact is say an auto, _ze_ brain will know that there must have been a dealership, and insurance people and probably a favorite mechanic, and will know that this information must be in there somewhere."

Still Sarah tried to grip her emotions tightly, even as the most hopeful conclusions manifested themselves. "So what your saying is this agent…."

"If he is alive, healthy, and is not regularly being artificially suppressed, will surely overcome their suppression. Memory suppression has its uses, of course, but in the end it is _no-ting_ more than an artificial _und_ finite invasion into a healthy brain. If the brain survives the invasion, it copes, _und_ works to undo the damage done. If the artifact can be reintroduced, the coping should become much easier and faster."

Hiding her sweating palms, Sarah nudged general Beckman with her foot.

"Thank you Doctor, that was most … enlightening. Perhaps Atlanta Fed is too … primitive a facility for you to be spending your time. I'll speak to the DOJ about moving you to a more comfortable spot. Perhaps one with nicer library."

Dr. Mueller was collected and sent back to his cell, leaving Sarah and Beckman alone in the interview room. "I'll assume you came to the same conclusion I did?" Beckman said.

"Quinn didn't erase or suppress my last five years. He just suppressed all the memories I had with Chuck!" Sarah practically exploded.

"And apparently they can come back simply by spending time with him."

Sarah now spoke excitedly "When I was in the Wienerlicious in Berlin I remembered the arraignment of the cups. When I was in the Buy More I remembered ringing the desk bell the first time I was there. Chuck kissed me at the beach last week. A few things started coming back to me."

Beckman held up her hand and smiled a bit "That's probably a natural place to stop giving me details."

"He's waiting for me back in California." Sarah said.

"Well then it's time to put an end to his waiting, don't you think?" suggested Beckman.

= = = = = = = = = = C=C=C=C=C=C=C = = = = = = = = = =

**Los Angeles California  
Echo Park  
Bartowski Residence**

**(3 days later)**

True to her word, Sarah had returned, willing to let whatever unknown and unknowable sorcery Chuck's proximity to herself take its time and work its way.

He awoke with a soft groan. Chuck still thought of the guest bedroom as Morgan's Old Room, despite the fact that Morgan had moved out last year, well before the wedding. Now he and Alex were reunited with each other and living in Casey's old pad across the courtyard.

It was an odd mixture of frustration and hope with which Chuck had woken up for the last three days. Just as one gets used to living without a deceased loved one, Chuck had gotten used to the horrible, numb reality of waking up without Sarah in the month since Quinn's attack. It was painful to both go to sleep and wake up in the room and bed where he and Sarah had shared so many heartfelt passionate encounters, and countless more profound conversations stretching back to when they had first met.

Now Sarah was back, physically at least. Although Chuck wanted nothing more than for things to be as they were and for them to sleep in the same bed together again, they had agreed that space and time for Sarah's memories to return were probably for the best.

Breakfast, Chuck decided would be an integral part of Sarah's memory jogging. Dutifully, he got up and got to work on the eggs and toast, clad in what he typically slept in, a t-shirt and sweatpants.

Somewhere about the time the first omelet was done, Chuck's cell phone chirped.

**Zondra**: **C and I will be there in 20.**

= = = = = = = = = = C=C=C=C=C=C=C = = = = = = = = = =

_But we never went to Comic-Con, did we? … How're you doing? … Not great … I am just being professional … yeah- world's oldest profession … It's official … you're my home, Chuck … Do you know what this is? … it's his proposal plan … I'll be out in a minute… Promise me you're not doing it for me. Or for us …you did the right thing you followed protocol …. It must have torn Bryce up not to be able to tell me… you didn't think we'd let you keep that, did you? … Arcade Fire- you're not ready for it… Sarah we've got company! … but Julia Roberts was so delightful, wasn't she?__**  
**_

It was like sleeping in a haunted house, Both kinds of haunted houses, the type inhabited by spirits and the amusement park ride, where unpredictable things jumped out and surprised her. Her and Chuck's bedroom was haunted by all sorts of memories ranging from the blushingly intensely erotic, to the mundane to the frightening. There was no doubt that some version of her belonged here with Chuck, and the spy in her was intrigued at the idea of making all of these memories make sense. Why was there a ninja with a pair of _sai_ in their room at one time? Did Chuck really call her a prostitute once?

She lay awake alone in the bed, blinking a few times, happy that memories were finding her, but frustrated that they rarely made immediate sense. And this apartment was full of such memories.

No sooner was Sarah done blinking the sleep from her eyes than yet another stream of memories rushed her. These were the sounds of eggs sizzling in the frying pan from the kitchen. Sarah sat up and inhaled deeply for a minute. On her fourth inhale, the delightful aroma from the kitchen filled her nostrils, and vaguely brought memories of waking up alone to find her boyfriend or husband cooking for her – a rarity as she was the lighter sleeper, and typically up and awake first – or more commonly lounging about with her Chuck on a lazy morning while Morgan cooked.

Visitors ringing the doorbell, this early in the morning, however were not common and the sound snapped her out of her reverie. The sound of a female voice when Chuck answered the door sliced through a great deal of haze… _Carina? From the CATs?_ Here was no long lost puzzle piece or uncertain memory – Sarah remembered Carina, Zondra and Amy very well. Quickly, Sarah pulled on a bathrobe, bound it fast around her and was prepared to come out into the dining area, when she heard Chuck's voice saying "yes it's true." It stopped her in her tracks and instead of making it to the kitchen/ dining area, she allowed her surreptitious side to win, cracked the door open ajar, and listened.

= = = = = = = = = = C=C=C=C=C=C=C = = = = = = = = = =

Zondra Rizzo had in fact arrived a few minutes before Carina, but didn't approach the apartment. The truth was that she was scared. If an enemy had killed Sarah, taking her from her friends and comrades entirely, that would be one thing, a loss they could mourn and heal from. But Chuck's phone call from earlier bespoke of a fate far more nightmarish – _Sarah literally didn't remember a single thing from the last five years?_ Zondra wasn't sure what she'd find if she approached the house. Would Sarah have snapped and killed Chuck? Would the surprisingly competent Chuck have hurt or killed Sarah in self-defense? Sarah possibly still thought of Zondra as a traitor- nobody five years ago had suspected the sweet, dim-seeming Amy.

And so, uncharacteristically shy Zondra sat perched on her motorcycle, eyeing the apartment, and checking her phone for some badly needed reinforcement.

It came with revving growl behind her, as a glossy black Ford Mustang grumbled to a halt. The driver's side door opened, and out stepped all six feet of Carina, her rusty tresses held in place with a pair of sunglasses, until she pulled them down into place.

"They not up yet? Carina asked, jerking her head towards the apartment.

"There's movement. I think Chuck's making breakfast. I haven't gone in. was waiting for you."

"C'mon." Carina said, as she strode her way into the courtyard and around the fountain. With a glance back to the street and Zondra's bike, she asked "did you really ride that all the way from Florida?"

"What can I say, I like biking through the South." Zondra said dismissively.

Carina rang the bell. The door was immediately answered by Chuck. Both women could tell that all was not well. Chuck was decent, and not unkempt, clad as he was in a Star Trek t-shirt and sweatpants, but he hadn't shaved in a few days, and rather than a jovial happy look on his face, he had the fatigued sadness of someone who had just gotten home from a funeral- the look of one who had been sad for a matter of days and weeks, not hours and minutes.

Carina wasted no minutes. "So Sarah's lost her memories? It's true?"

"Yes it's true." Chuck said. Then opening the door widely for both women, he said. "Come on in. I was about to make breakfast. Coffee's almost on." Chuck gestured in an uncommitted way to the area around both the breakfast counter and the dining room table.

"Thanks, I need to sit," Zondra chirped with fake cheeriness, desperate to keep the mood as light as possible. "Been riding cross country and my thighs haven't hurt this much since after that night with the varsity lacrosse team"

"Which time?" Carina challenged "The time that happened in high school, the time that happened in college, or four days ago when you swung by Ole Miss?" Zondra gave her a stinky eye while she found a seat.

Chuck served the two women breakfast, and began to reiterate Sarah's recent story for what felt like the billionth and a half time. Zondra and Carina pitched into their eggs and French toast and listened with a mixture of horror and confusion. Sarah's condition was dreadful, but the ex-CATs weren't at all sure on how Chuck was hoping they could be part of any long term solution.

"Is Sarah's memory going to come back?" Zondra asked.

"The best we can say is 'maybe. We hope so'" Chuck said glumly. "According to what she said Dr. Mueller said, exposure to what her life was like over the last five years _should_ jog her memory. Of course, the last time I spent any time with Dr. Mueller, he was trying to liquefy my brain into sludge, so I'm not really happy that his opinions are what passes for rays of hope with Sarah."

"What do you want us to do?" Zondra pressed.

Chuck nearly seemed to choke on the words, so painful they seemed to get out. "I don't know if Sarah's going to stay. Or if she's going to recover enough of her memory to make her _want_ to stay. But either way she's going to need you two. This didn't even happen to me, and I know I'd barely make it through this if it wasn't for my family and friends. No matter what Sarah decides to do, I want you two to be there for her to let her know that she's not alone."

Carina turned her head to take a swig of orange juice, and in so doing, cast a glance down the hallway. From her perch on the stool at the breakfast counter, she had noticed something that neither Zondra or Chuck had. – the door to the master bedroom was slightly ajar. A cruel, but hopefully effective plan formed in Carina's mind.

"Heh." Carina guffawed. "Well if a girl has to loose five years of her life, she picked the right five years to lose."

Chuck's face registered confusion at the statement, convinced that he'd heard wrong. "What do you mean?"

But Zondra was horrified at Carina's callousness. "Yo!, C! Haven't you been paying attention? Our girl barely even remembers Chuck!"

"And that's kind of sad, yeah." Carina said. "But let's face it, Sarah's fallen apart in the last five years. She's gone from probably the best and smartest CAT, to a barefoot and wannabe pregnant housewife! Are you seriously proud of yourself Chuck that you took a brain that was all about disabling bombs and capturing some of the evilest people on the planet, and turning it to thoughts of Costco runs and backyard barbecues. I'll bet your last big discussion was on what type of dog to get, and what kind of Homeowners Association to join."

Zondra's mouth flew open in shock. "Wait! What? No! Chuck! I'm totally on your side. It's because of you I have Sarah back as a friend. If she hangs with me I can be your biggest cheerleader. And I'm persuasive. I once convinced Amy to switch from Team Jacob to Team Edward!"

"Oh, yeah" Carina quipped "So you taught her all about changing teams. Guess she took that lesson to heart" Returning her look to Chuck she stormed "Sorry Chuck, but I don't think you want me hanging with Sarah, because my pitch will be all about how great her life was _before_ those five years. She got to travel to pretty much every capital in the world, a great expense and wardrobe budget, and her job had a great purpose. Did you seriously think I was going to be your biggest cheerleader? I barely forgive you two for living in Los Angeles."

Chuck heaved a deflated sigh. "Actually … no I didn't. I know not everyone's cut out for suburbanville and family life Carina. I know that. I wasn't expecting you to pitch me. Either of you."

"Then why bring us here?" Carina asked.

Chuck broke, and his face betrayed a look of utter helplessness. "Because I want Sarah to be happy, and I don't want her to be hurting! Whether she wants to be with me or not, she's hurting. Whether I can help her remember or not, she's hurting. You're her friends, and I want you to help her feel good every now and then, and remind her she's not alone. Spend time with her and be with her, even if she's not with me."

Carina's look softened as it became apparent that Chuck was trying to hold back tears "It's really possible that Sarah's going to give up and leave me and go back to being a spy. I know that. I've known that for the last three weeks and four days! It was a miracle that she fell in love with me in the first place – I know better than to just assume that miracle can happen again! But if Sarah leaves me, it's not going to just me that she leaves. She'll be leaving Ellie and Devon and Morgan and Alex, and almost everybody she cares about and who cares about her. I don't want her to be alone, She's a people person. She's happiest when she's around friends. She's going to need you, and I want you to be there for -"

Chuck didn't get to complete the sentence. Carina's barrage of snarky put-downs and insults had done its work.

Sarah, listening from the bedroom had heard Carina's snide remarks and yet another torrent of memories came roaring back to her, of every time she had silently witnessed her Chuck being insulted and abused. It had happened a lot. Casey had done it on an almost daily basis, although for a Marine a small amount of chop-busting was practically a token of acceptance and endearment. Beckman had been dismissive of everything about Chuck towards the beginning, only gradually coming around to seeing the worth not only of The Intersect, but of the man who carried it. Carina, Zondra and Amy had been unimpressed with her Chuck upon first meeting, and those hyper-arrogant GRETAS that the government had tried so hard to groom as Chuck's replacements had been gleefully dismissive of him, one taunting him about not dropping the bomb.

All the while, Sarah, even while she was in the process of falling in love with him had been forced to bite her lip and maintain disciplined silence in the face of this abuse of her lover. She could and would take no more.

Covering the distance from the bedroom door to the kitchen in five long strides, Sarah grabbed Chuck's left shoulder and pulled, twisting him bodily to face her. With lighting speed, her hands slid up to his cheeks, steadying his head as she held him still for a long, deep, passionate kiss.

Chuck, as he was wont to when kissed by Sarah, almost lost track of the fact that there were other people in the room with them. Everything around him, the walls of the kitchen, the counters, Zondra and Carina… all seemed to fade into oblivion, until it was just the feel and taste of Sarah's lips, the soft but strong touch of her hands, and the sent of her hair.

"Wow" was what the always- eloquent Chuck said at length when the kiss broke.

Sarah caught his eyes and said "Chuck, I'm not going anywhere. I might not remember every little detail, yet, Chuck but I can remember how you made me feel." Kissing him again sharply on the lips she threw her arms around him and whispered once more into his ear "I'm not going anywhere, Chuck".

Then she whirled around, staring daggers at the two women in her kitchen. "Carina," she snarled _"Don't ever speak to my husband like that again!"_

The sight of an infuriated Sarah (Walker) Bartowski typically had a destructive effect on people's confidence and sense of immediate safety. Retreat and flight were favorite responses, and usually the most sensible ones.

But Carina simply regarded her friend and comrade. Accepting the risk that she might have to dodge a punch or a slap, she held her ground. As Sarah continued to glare at her in rage, it was clear that she only intended a verbal warning- this time. Carina allowed a small smile to part her lips. Smugly, she simply said "Welcome back Sarah."


End file.
